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velaenam · 2 months ago

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𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚 ��𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

◦ ♡

𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫!𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫!𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 — non!mc. a princess from a powerful merchant kingdom is thrust into a political marriage with rome’s most feared military emperor—only to catch the eye of a rival sovereign who believes her freedom is worth starting a war. 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 — set during the early imperial period of rome, the story unfolds at the height of political intrigue and military dominance, where empires clash, alliances shift. story will take place between 1st century bce – 2nd century ce, give or take. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 — swearing, nsfw language, political manipulation, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, toxic relationships, war and violence, sexual themes, misogyny/patriarchal culture, classism and elitism, culture tensions, xenophobia, racism, non consensual stuff at times.. uhh.. romantic love triangle, slow burn, angst, fluff, smut 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — please note that this is a civilization thousands and thousands of years ago, so they probably aren't as socially accepting.. you are also of arabian and hellenistic heritage. normally i am ambiguous of how i describe the protagonist of my stories, but i'll be a bit more focused on my details in this story. I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH, IF YOU HAVE ANY OF THESE TRIGGERS PLEASE BE MINDFUL. i will also put a DISCLAIMER of any non consensual stuff or any triggering events that may end up happening PRIOR to the actual scene. (obviously it will not be frequent thing) — reblogs comments & likes are appreciated. let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist! 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — PROLOGUE | next chapter

this will be a bit short. its the prologue— so its going to just go over a little tid bit of how everyone is going to be and you can see how the atmosphere is.

the morning is soft with silence.

sunlight filters through the sheer drapes like it’s hesitant to enter, golden dust suspended in the hush. your room smells faintly of rose oil and crushed figs, of silk warmed by the sun. servants move quietly around you—gentle hands braiding your hair, smoothing the folds of your linen dress, adjusting the golden clasp at your shoulder. you don’t speak. neither do they. it’s an old, practiced ritual. the preparation of a daughter for something unspoken.

you watch yourself in the polished bronze mirror. not a girl anymore, not quite a queen. something in between. something uncertain. how were you feeling? you felt dreadful. to be a pawn was never a good thing. a knock at the door. soft, like you can hear misery through a pounding. then a murmur. “his majesty is waiting.”

your sandals smack softly against the stone as you walk, heart quiet but heavy. the hallway stretch long, filled with mosaics that tell stories of your ancestors—men who conquered, the women who waited. you walk past them like a ghost. your father is standing near the open colonnade, among the atrium, staring out at the city below. his toga catch in the breeze like banners. he does not turn when you enter.

“you sent for me,” you say above a whisper, as the chamber echoed your voice. he nods once. his voice is as it always is— stoic. weathered by experience.

“rome has made an offer. emperor caleb xia would like your hand in marriage”

you say nothing. the wind picks up. it carries the scent of figs and pomegranates— your favorites. you stand, stiffened. is this from the emperor himself, or his senate?

“you’ve always understood the weight of your position,” he continues, still not looking at you. “this isn’t punishment. it’s legacy.” you wonder if he’s speaking to himself.

“and the emperor?” you ask softly. “do you trust him?” he couldn’t even lie if he tried. your father turns, finally, eyes sharp and tired all at once. “no. but alliances are not built on trust. they are built on necessity.” he steps closer, and for a moment, he is not a king, but your father. his hand rests on your shoulder, not heavy, but firm. “you will do what must be done,” he says. “as we all have.” you nod. because what else is there to say? no? what the hells would even happen if you said that? with an even heavier heart, and a tight lip, you bow slightly, before turning heels and walking back to your chamber.

later, when you return to your chambers, you unpin your hair with trembling fingers and stare at the mirror again, and when you look up to the mirror, your tears fall. you realize this may be the very last time you could have your peace to yourself— at least for a while. you weren’t a woman basking in the sunlight anymore. laying near the ravine with your closest friends. you were a pawn.

the air inside the tent tastes of iron and dust.

outside, the murmurs of the camp never sleep—shields being oiled, blades checked again and again, men speaking low in the hush of an almost-won war. the sky beyond the canvas is the color of smoke, the kind that clings to your skin long after the fires are gone.

caleb stands alone over the war table, eyes fixed on the parchment map that bears the scars of too many campaigns. lines drawn and redrawn. cities conquered. rivers crossed. this battle will end tomorrow, and with it, resistance in the east.

he doesn’t smile. he never does. victory is expected of him. and expectations are chains dressed as crowns. a soldier enters, bows low. news of the enemy’s retreat. talk of surrender. a whisper, almost offhanded, like it doesn’t matter:

“a formal alliance is being discussed in the senate—nabira’s hand in marriage. her daughter.”

caleb says nothing at first. he does not lift his head. just another treaty. just another crown to bind with rome. how many women were given to him for this reason? he couldn’t count the amount of attempted alliance and leverage thrown at him. a mere woman’s soul is the price of not being taken and pulled apart? no. no, this would be different.

“what’s her name?” he asks, not because he cares.. just to know what name history will one day try to stitch beside his. the soldier hesitates. then: “they don’t speak it aloud, not yet. only that she is.. magical…shadowed... her father guards her like a secret.”

caleb’s gaze lingers on the edge of the map, where nabira is inked in faint gold. a kingdom on the edge of empires. he says nothing else, and neither does the soldier, and after a couple beats skip, the soldier leaves.

caleb stays there a while longer, the quiet pressing in as he glides his fingers across the map, calculating to himself. he knows better than to believe in fate. but still—he wonders what kind of woman is hidden behind a crown, guarded like a blade, spoken of only in quiet corners of powerful rooms. was she formidable? he wonders. his heart races at the slightest at the thought of you.

and he wonders what kind of man he will need to be to win your loyalty. surely not with war? with silken drapes, and golden gifts. will he need to throw lavish expenses to win such an even more lavish heart? he was thinking too hard— he doesn’t even know a god damn thing, and this was distracting him.

shahanshah - king of kings / emperor (persian. pronounced sha-han-sha)

the night air in parthia was cool, the scent of myrrh drifting through the royal palace gardens. shahanshah sylus stood alone beneath the towering date palms, his thoughts far from the usual state matters. the sky stretched dark above him, the stars twinkling like scattered diamonds, but there was little peace in his mind tonight. the soft footsteps of an approaching figure broke the silence. the emissary bowed deeply as he came closer, careful not to disrupt the stillness. “shahanshah,” the emissary spoke, voice low and respectful. “we’ve received word from the princess' brother. the decision has been made.” sylus didn’t turn right away, his gaze fixed on the horizon. his voice, when it came, was quiet but sharp.

“what decision?”

“the marriage… it’s been arranged. the princess of nabira will marry emperor caleb of rome.”

sylus paused, his fingers tightening on the edge of the stone column beside him. he hadn’t expected this development, not so soon. but your father had always been pragmatic, and in these times of shifting alliances, a marriage to rome made sense—at least politically. still, the news stung.

“and the princess?” sylus asked, his voice colder than it had been moments before. “was she consulted?” it was a quick quiet, the emissary hesitated. “she… was informed. the decision was her father’s. from what i understand, she did not take it well. there were tears, and anger.”

sylus absorbed the information quietly, his gaze never leaving the view before him. he knew this was coming. the union of rome and nabira had been hinted at for months, but hearing it was another matter entirely. he didn’t think that your father really had the balls to actually pull through.

“her brother– the diplomat, he must have known this was coming,” sylus said, a small frown pulling at his lips. “why send the message to me now?”

the emissary nodded. “her brother… he has long worked with you, shahanshah. he is a trusted ally in trade, and he wanted to ensure you heard it from him directly. he also believes this marriage could open doors for more favorable dealings between parthia and nabira.”

sylus turned now, finally facing the emissary. his red eyes were hard, calculating. unreadable. the emissary shifted his posture.

“so this marriage is as much about trade as it is about politics?” sylus asked, voice laced with an edge. “but what of the princess? does she have no say in the matter?”

“her father has made the decision. the princess is caught in the web of diplomacy. her brother… i believe he tried to shield her from the worst of it, but ultimately, the decision rests with the king.”

sylus’ jaw clenched, and his mind raced. the political situation was delicate, but this… this felt different. he feels as if he’s seeing a life slip from its freedom.

“what does her brother say?” sylus pressed. “is he pleased with this marriage?”

the emissary hesitated again. “he does what is best for nabira. but it is clear he does not want to see her in the hands of rome. he worries for her.”

sylus’ lips tightened in thought. he had always known your brother had his eyes set on securing an advantageous position for nabira, but this marriage would change everything. the alliance with rome would tilt the scales of power in ways that were difficult to predict. an insurmountable amount of money would be handed over to the most powerful empire in the world. the silk road would bloom into something more.

he straightened, his voice firm as he turned back toward the emissary, “tell her brother that i expect an update—soon. and i will not forget what this means for parthia. if rome wants nabira so badly, they will have to deal with us.”

the emissary nodded and bowed deeply before taking his leave. as sylus watched him depart, his thoughts lingered on you. you were bound by duty, but he knew that the chains of politics could break, and alliances could shift.

“she may not have a say now,” sylus murmured to himself, staring into the night. “but nothing is final until i decide it is. and i will make sure that, in the end, she has her freedom.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ! - @rcvcgers

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twstedfreak · 2 months ago

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Not Even the Gods Can Keep Me from You — g. satoru

Ꮺ ⋮ pairing — odysseus!gojo satoru x fem!reader [greek au]

Ꮺ ⋮ synopsis — ❝ you were never supposed to fall for the prince of ithaca—especially not when war was on the horizon and the gods had already written tragedy in the stars. but you did. and any now, years have passed, the sea has swallowed his name, and you're left raising his son in a kingdom that’s slowly forgetting him. across cursed islands and shattered battlegrounds, gojo satoru is fighting his way back to you—but after all this time, will love be enough to bring him home? ❞

Ꮺ ⋮ c&w — 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—kinda ooc, kinda slowburn too, war, violence, death, grief, emotional manipulation, long chapters(?), separation, implied infidelity in the context of war and distance, strong language, betrayal, intense emotional conflict, Satoru’s inner turmoil and struggles with guilt, longing, and regret. tags might be added along the making of this Ꮺ ⋮ notes — it’s finally here… slowly but surely, i’m going to start uploading this series I’ve been working on for what feels like forever. seriously, the on-and-off relationship i’ve had with this story and the thought process behind it? Yeah, it’s been a ride. you wouldn’t believe half the stuff that went into it (just kidding, maybe you would). anyway, i’ll be posting the first chapter soon! just tweaking a few things here and there. upload times might be a bit inconsistent, as well as expect (ig)slow updates, idk it really does depend on my mood, so please bear with me while I get everything in order. thanks for sticking with me, y'all!! if you want to be added to the taglist, make sure to comment before i close it! i’m currently sorting out my tumblr theme (you know, the usual chaos of customization), but i’ll be back to posting soon. thanks so much for your patience and support, can’t wait to get this rolling! teaser post here! Ꮺ ⋮ status — new & ongoing

masterlist | drabble | headcanon ˚ 　 ⤹ 　 ❝ ©twstedfreak

TABLE OF CONTENT . . . . !!

PROLOGUE — BEFORE THE STORM The moment the thread was spun

01 | The Prince & the Spartan ⤷ A diplomatic visit. A shared glance. Their world begins to shift. 02 | The Lasting Days ⤷ He falls fast. She builds walls. But the heart doesn't always obey. 03 | The Archer in the Crowd ⤷ A masked suitor. A silent promise. A choice she never saw coming. 04 | Athena’s Watchful Eyes ⤷ Athena watches a child become a man—driven by love, tested by fate. 05 | The Ninth Dawn ⤷ Nine days. One child. One goodbye. Neither ready to let go.

MORE TO BE ADDED..... !!

Ꮺ ⋮ reminder — inspired by epic the musical by jorge rivera herrans. The banner and divider design is created by me. Please do not use, alter, or modify the template/design without permission. Do not steal, modify, tweak, translate, or plagiarize anything from my blog. Do not use / copy my template or theme. Respect my work, love u guys. 🚨

Ꮺ ⋮ TAGLIST OPEN comment to be added to the official list —

@sims-4lifers. @spiritkittten. @crystal-freak24. @not-aya. @n1vi. @kinkyvitch. @twistedbitcc. @abeitriz. @sims-4lifers. @artist1936. @ratedrrrr. @barbare2. @sheep-infog. @tojideckmuncher. @midnightlunasworld. @lovely-maryj. @the-queen-yn. @dairyfaerie. @qnqwr @poopooindamouf. @theanaoevre. @blueemochii. @tinykryptonitefairy. @thesimppotato11. @kyungjunnies. @tamishadawn. @corvid007. @linaaeatsfamilies. @borntoexplore11-blog. @dainslumi. @rjreins. @perffff0. @sillysushi. @bluepanda08. @joyfulweaselbananapanda. @crsdf4everr. @lem-hhn. @leave-rae-alone.

— ©twstedfreak

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yummyrevivalfluid · 2 months ago

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What Wouldn't Senku Do For Science?

Summary: What was supposed to be a journey to Treasure Island gets interrupted when a storm has the Perseus sail off course. The kingdom of science finds itself landing on a mysterious island inhabited by the people of Flora Village. Imagine Senku’s surprise when he is face-to-face with the Queen of the village who has a necklace made of platinum around her neck. Surely Senku wouldn’t try to charm you into giving up your necklace in the name of science?

Chapter 1: Science? That's Sorcery!

Read Prologue HERE Read on AO3 HERE (IT'S BEEN REVISED TO INCLUDE A BIT MORE)

Synposis: It's the day of your coronation ceremony! What can possibly go wrong?!

Warnings: Misogyny, Deaths, slightly suggestive themes (NO SMUT...yet...), anxious reader

Word Count: 5,608

You’ve been lying awake in your bed, trying to ignore the sick feeling in your stomach. The weird, swirling sensation of feeling empty. Every so often, you turn on your stomach, your head lurching off the bed, trying to swallow the feeling that keeps arising, to swallow back the sour and bitter taste.

Only one thing kept running through your mind. Try as you might, your thoughts keep going to the future, thinking of all the ways your coronation can go. Despite having planned everything for your coronation. You couldn’t stop this nagging feeling in the back of your mind. The feeling that something will go wrong, that something unexpected will come crashing towards you.

Your mind begins to drift back to your father, anything to slow the rhythm of your heart—anything to even your erratic breathing. ‘Tomorrow is a day of celebration’ you can imagine your father telling you. With a bitter laugh, you close your eyes in an attempt to sleep. You were unsure if you had slept at all…

You open your eyes to the warmth of the rising sun. The warmth of the light that touches your skin calms your nerves. The song the birds sing brings you peace. After hours of self-inflicted mental torment, you finally feel at ease. Even if it is just a few minutes.

“Honestly, you think she’ll be awake at a proper time, especially today out of all days…I fear for the village when she becomes queen...”

And with the overheard whispers of your aunt, you dread the day ahead of you.

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“Look who’s finally decided to wake!” your uncle shouts. The giant grin on his face was doing little to mask the mockery in his voice. “Thought you would sleep through your coronation!” He places his hand on your shoulder and squeezes, his fingers digging into your skin. You brush off his touch.

“The sun has yet to fully rise,” you say as you take your seat at the table. “And what kind of queen would I be to just sleep the day away?”

“A bad queen.” Your cousin answers. Your aunt is quick to interject, “A bad queen indeed! But you know better than to do that!”

You bite your tongue, not wanting to reveal what you overheard. You pray that you didn’t roll your eyes at her response; you wouldn’t hear the end of it. An unsettling silence washes over the table, and you do nothing to remedy it. Instead, you eat your breakfast, not sparing a glance at your family. As you near the end of your breakfast, your aunt finally speaks.

“Look at your face! Those bags under your eyes…It’s as if you didn’t sleep,” your aunt says in a sickening sweet voice. As if she cared for your well-being. Her tone only masks the judgmental observations under a caring disguise. “Is that what you plan on wearing to the ceremony?” she asks, eyeing your attire with a slight sneer.

“No,” you reply, with a deep sigh following your words. You can feel your right eye resisting the urge to twitch. Another wave of silence until your uncle coughs in an attempt to get your attention.

“Have you thought of what we said?” his voice deepens. He looks at you briefly with a disdainful look, his fork playing with the food on his plate. You look at him questioningly, waiting for him to elaborate further. He doesn’t get the hint. Your patience was wearing incredibly thin today. Without thinking of the consequences of your actions, you drop the fork on your plate, sighing exasperated, accompanied by your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Maybe you didn’t get enough sleep…

“What are you talking about?” you say, your words revealing your annoyance. “Which of the many idiotic things are you referring to? Are you referring to my capabilities as a leader? Or is it about me finding a partner? Birthing an heir? Or is it about me possibly contracting the same illness as my father?” you laugh bitterly. “Well, you can cut the act because I know that’s what you want.”

Your aunt’s eyes widen at your response, gasping as if you cursed her. Your uncle narrows his eyes at you and scowls. “Although you are to be crowned queen,” he sneers, face turning red, “that is no reason to speak to us in that manner!”

You know you should control yourself. You have endured this for 18 years; what is a few more? What is a few more years of mental torment? How many more backhanded comments and false celebrations can you handle until their faces are meeting the back of your hand?

What is a few more years of snide looks? How many more of their questioning gazes in your choice of attire can you take? How many more side-eyes can you take until you shove their eyes in the back of their skull?

What is a few more years of forceful embraces? How many more fingers digging into your skin can you take? Their embraces feel like an attempt to break your ribs.

What is a few more years living with them when they wish that you were dead?

“This is the manner that you three have spoken to me all of my life!” you cry out. You stand from your seat, your hands bawl at your sides. “I know what you think of me. I know what you want from me. Your whispers are not as quiet as you think. I know that you blame me for my mother’s passing. I know that you wish I were dead…” You glance at them, and every one of them refuses to meet your eyes. Instead, they find their empty plate so fascinating. You roll your eyes, and you wave your hands in the air in defeat. You storm your way towards the exit, but you don’t leave, not yet. You haven’t finished giving them a piece of your mind.

“If you do not like the tone I speak to you, then please take a moment to reflect. From here on out, I will speak to you in the manner you speak to me.” You open the doors, and before you let them close behind you, “I will see you at the ceremony, and I expect an apology.”

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You stormed out of the dining hall, opening the doors outside. The brightness of the sun that was once welcoming now irritated you. The villagers were now awake and beginning their preparation for the festivities. Their chatter and the bustling of their tasks overwhelm your ears. Your eyes squint, attempting to adjust to the new lighting as you walk through the village to get back to your hut. Quickly, you are met with greetings from the villagers. They voice their excitement for your ceremony and for the festivities that will follow. You ease your stride and hide your frustrations. You smile at them shyly, and before you can get to your destination, you are pulled away.

You trip over your feet as someone pushes you inside their home.

“Time to get you ready for your coronation!” a voice cheers. You regain your composure and glare at the person in front of you.

“Did you have to be so rough with me?” you ask. “I’m already having a rough morning. I don’t need you to kill me before I’m queen.” You joke with your friend, Daisy. She is quick to embrace you, her touch genuine.

“You can tell me all about it while I get you all pretty!” She grips your shoulders and directs you to sit in the seat centered in her room. A mirror was placed in front, and her collection of brushes and pigments, waiting at the side. You take a seat, and she stands behind you. She holds your hair in one hand and a brush in another. “I will brush your hair while you tell me everything.”

You smile weakly at her before you begin your rant. Expressing that everything is moving too quickly. That not even a week ago you were mourning the loss of your father, and now you are expected to lead the village. You tell her that when the moon overlooked the village, you were at your haven saying your final goodbyes. You reveal to her the vow you made to yourself, to not practice sorcery for as long as you were queen. You retell the events that occurred not even an hour ago.

“-and I just stormed off!” you say, still frustrated from what occurred in the morning. Daisy hums, acknowledging you. She finishes brushing your hair and begins to style it. Opting for a simple braid with flowers incorporated.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way!” she starts nervously. “You know I love you and respect your decisions…but when are you going to find a partner…” her voice getting softer near the end of her words.

“What?” you ask, betrayed and shocked that she seems to agree with your family.

“I mean…I’m just concerned.” You look in the mirror, attempting to meet her eyes, but she refuses. Her gaze locked into your hair as she continued to braid. “For all the time that I’ve known you, I haven’t seen you interact with any of the boys from the village. The only time I do is when you reject their advances…” her voice drops and then she gasps, tugging your hair in excitement, “UNLESS YOU HAVE A SECRET LOVER YOU HAVEN’T TOLD ME ABOUT!”

You don’t respond. Your mind is trying to catch up with the sudden mood change. Your body reacts faster than your mind. You feel your face getting hot at her question. “Uh- “

“YOU DO!” She walks to stand right in front of you, her eyes staring into yours in excitement. “WHO IS IT!” she gushes.

You jolt from your seat. You felt flustered and began to pace in circles. You fan your face, attempting to cool yourself. “I don’t have a lover.” Your voice is quiet, bordering on the line of a whisper.

“But whyyyyy!” she groans, falling dramatically against the chair you were just sitting at. You’re so pretty! You can get anyone you want! SO WHYYY!” She lifts herself and walks over to you and grips your shoulders. She stares at you with a serious look despite the foolishness in her words, “And please don’t say it’s the men! There are so many eligible bachelors!” she drools.

You stay silent for a second, your mind trying to find a reason. Was it because you were always huddled up in your hut experimenting with minerals you found in the cave? Or was it because you avoided looking for a partner to spite your aunt and uncle? You keep those reasons to yourself and give her a different answer. What you thought was a logical response was blasphemy to her ears.

“If I were to choose a lover…I would like for them to be knowledgeable, …a know-it-all.” You blush at the idea of such a person existing. “I also want them to be curious… and creative. I want them to give me gifts made by their own hands…gift me something that yet exists. I don’t think any of the men in the village fit these criteria…”

As you finish your answer, you watch her hang her head in mock disappointment. Shaking her head as your answer sinks in.

“Sweetie, unless a boat washes up on the shore with your dream man aboard, you are never going to get a man. I mean, what are the chances!”

“The chances are low but never zero…” you replied optimistically, which resulted in a fit of laughter between the two of you. You continued to converse with her as she pampered you. From styling your hair to doing your makeup and choosing your attire, she made sure you looked your best. She incorporated flowers from the fields of the island into your hair. Dressing you in the village's finest jewels. Choosing your attire to match the royal necklace that will be bestowed on you.

You eyed the deep neckline in your top. “Is this not too deep?” you ask.

“Pshh! As if!” She dismisses your concern. She grabs a necklace and rests it against your neck. “Once you are crowned Queen, they will bestow you the royal necklace. With this neckline, the necklace is going to stand out!”

“I suppose…” you reply, voice unsure. You were never fond of dressing up, so anything other than your usual attire felt strange to you, but you trusted her judgment. “It’s just for a day,” you reason with yourself.

As if time was repeating itself, the moment you fully feel at ease, your aunt’s voice is there to ruin it. She knocks on the door and calls your name, wanting to talk. You turn to Daisy and thank her.

“I’ll see you at the ceremony.”

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You’ve been strolling the shore of the island for a few minutes with your aunt. Despite saying she wants to talk, she hasn’t said a single thing.

“What is that you wanted to talk to me about?” you ask, tired of the tense silence between the two of you. Your aunt finally stops and turns to look at you.

“I want to apologize.” She speaks. This was the first time you’ve ever heard her voice sound so soft-so sincere. “My reasons for my actions towards you are no excuse. I-I” her voice cracks, and you feel your breath hitch. “-I don’t think I handled my loss correctly, just misguided my emotions.”

You feel her take your hands in hers, her thumb rubbing circles into your skin. For once, her touch didn’t hurt. “Before you were born, I gave birth to a healthy girl…S-she looked healthy…so I don’t know why she passed in her sleep.”

“I never knew…” you say to her. You squeeze her hand in a way to console her.

“So, when my brother said he was expecting his first child, I was envious…Then your mother gave birth to you, and that envy turned to resentment. Resentment because I believed you took the place of my daughter. Resentment because I blamed you for your mother's death…I know it’s not your fault, and I’m sorry for making you feel that way.”

She pulls you into a deep embrace as she begins to sob into your neck, her hands clenching onto your clothes. Overwhelmed by her confession, you felt your body tremble. Your hands are shaking as you return her embrace. Oddly enough, you took comfort in her repeated apology, she whispered against you. It makes you believe that maybe the relationship between the two of you will heal with time.

“I lost my brother, and you lost your father…I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you.”

“It’ll take some time…but I want us to get along.” You confess. She replies with a weak smile.

“Of course…Please give my husband and son time to adjust. They will come around.” She holds your hand and resumes the stroll again. This time, leading you back to your quarters. This time, the silence in the stroll was comforting. You felt at peace, and things were beginning to look hopeful. You reach your doorstep, and before she leaves, she hugs you once again, “You look lovely, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

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The feeling again came back. The feeling that time was moving too quickly for you. The hours until the time for your ceremony quickly dwindled to zero. Everything in between felt like a blur.

You walked through the fields of flowers where the ceremony was being held. Vases of flowers lined the aisle you walked through. On either side of you were the two eldest of the villagers. They held onto your hands as they delivered you to the center of the field where the priestess waited for you. Their deliverance signifies the torch of prosperity and wisdom being passed down to the newer generation.

You attempted to stay calm, the number of eyes on you overwhelming you. You reach the priestess, and the elders let go of your hands, just before giving you a reassuring squeeze. You kneel before the priestess, and she begins her speech.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been kneeling or how long she had been speaking. Time is yet again a blur to you. Unsure how long you were stuck in a trance, deep in thought, until the priestess' words snapped you back to reality.

“Do you accept?”

“I accept.” Your voice resonated through the crowd of villagers. You turn to face them as the priestess clasps the platinum necklace around your neck. The metal feels cold against your skin. You take a step forward.

“Our queen!” the priestess shouts, and the villagers begin to cheer.

I can do this…

You begin to walk down the aisle as the villagers throw flower petals over you.

What can go wrong?

You reach the end of the aisle, and you face the cheering villagers. Your fingers reach for the necklace around your neck, seeking courage to announce the commencement of the festivities. You take a deep sigh.

I can do this…

“OUTSIDERS!” the voice of a guard shouts over you. The sound of your words was lost under his shouts. You can feel your body going tense at the sound of the villagers gasping. It's hard to distinguish if they are from shock or fear. You would prefer neither.

“Outsiders?” you ask in disbelief. The guard runs to you, out of breath. He kneels before you and apologizes.

“Yes, my Queen. They are arriving in a boat bigger than I could ever imagine.” He explains as he points to the ocean. You walk closer to the ledge of the mountainside from where the guard was stationed. Your eyes widen at the sight, and you quickly turn back and begin to shout orders.

We have time until their boat arrives at our shore. We need to act promptly.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

HOURS BEFORE….

“HA HA!” Ryusui laughs as he stands at the end of the ship as the wind of the ocean attempts to silence him. “Mother Nature is finally revealing her true side!” The boat begins to sway as the ocean current worsens.

“What the hell!” Senku shouts at Ryusui. Senku stares at the grey clouds that are approaching them faster than they wish. The waves begin to rise and crash loudly against the ship, water beginning to flood the deck “Sailor’s intuition my ass! We’re heading straight to a storm!”

Ryusui is silent, wondering what the best course of action for the safety of everyone on board would be. “It’s too late to turn back.”

“Don’t tell me we're going straight into the storm!” Chrome shouts as he points to the lighting clouds ahead of them.

“INDEED, WE ARE!” Ryusui snaps his fingers just as lightning strikes behind him. “WE NEED ALL HANDS-ON-DECK!”

“It’s time to pit The Perseus against Mother Nature!”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After hours of enduring the cruel ocean storm, the Perseus prevails. The ship is still at sea, and although it's still afloat, the sails of the ship are in tatters; some are missing entirely. Pieces of the boat were claimed by the ocean waves. The kingdom of science had to face waves higher than the surface of the deck.

The crew is currently panting exhaustively against the surfaces of the ships, drenched from head to toe in salt water. Their arms are sore from holding onto the ropes connected to the sails, their bodies still shivering from the harsh winds. The crew is left in shambles, except for Ryusui, who is shouting victoriously over the ocean.

“Stop taunting mother nature…” Senku seethes. He peers over the sides of the deck, inspecting for damage. He knows better than to be shocked. Damage was going to be unavoidable by the level of the storm they faced, but to the extent he sees. He did not like this one bit. “We can’t handle a round two. We need to head back.”

“No!” Ryusui argues back. “We need to make a stop and repair the damages.”

“Uh-huh. And where do you suggest we go?” Senku counters back. “We don’t know where the hell that storm took us! It’s going to take me a few hours before I can determine our location, and we can’t risk facing another storm. The likelihood of an island being nearby is 10 billion percent impossible.”

It was a silent standoff between the two of them. Ryusui narrowed his eyes at Senku, his arms crossed in front of his chest while Senku carried a scowl, his hands on his hips. Neither spoke, waiting for the other to be challenged. It wasn’t until Suika's shout that broke their tension. “LOOK! An island!”

“HA HA! Sailors luck!”

“Unbelievable…”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Present

As the Perseus got closer to the island, it became apparent that they were about to be visitors to an occupied island. Eyeing what can be assumed to be guards waiting at the shore, Senku couldn’t help the irritated smile on his face from showing. “I’m starting to think that Sailor’s luck is a load of shit.” His words are directed at Ryusui, who continues to grin.

“Maybe they’re friendly,” Chrome shouted optimistically. Despite his own words, Chrome doubted it to be true as he eyed the guards standing at the top of the mountainside overlooking the shore.

“Fat chance” Kohaku butts in. “If they want to fight, then we’ll fight!” she attempts to lift the handle of her sword but is cut off by Gen’s hand.

“If you leave me to do the talking, I’m sure we’ll be welcomed with open arms.” A sadistic smile appears on Gen’s face as his eyes lock onto you.

“Hmmm…got a plan already, mentalist?” Senku asks, looking questionably at Gen. Gen smiles in return and draws his attention back to the shore. He doesn’t miss the amusement on Gen’s face. Curious, he follows Gen’s gaze, and then he understands.

He sees you surrounded by guards as you walk down the hillside overlooking the shore. Grabbing the makeshift binoculars, he zooms in and notices you’re giving orders. Pointing your fingers and the guards following. He follows the direction and notices that they are guarding a…cave? No…a mine!

“Looks like we know who’s running the show.” Senku says excitedly. His mind was racing with ideas of what’s hiding in your mines or the labor force you can provide.

“How advanced do you think they are?” Chrome asked as he reached for the binoculars in Senku’s hands.

“Hard to say…” Senku mumbles, finally removing the binoculars as he begins to pace around the deck. “From what I can see, they have mines, and they were quick to guard them before we landed. They, at least they understand the importance of minerals…”

“Mines, you say?” Ryusui speaks up. The wicked smile did little to hide what he was thinking. Already thinking of how to introduce his Dragos to your island and take control of your mines. “I want their mines!” Suddenly, a better idea washed over him, “HA HA! Better yet, this island shall be mine!”

“Hold your horses, Columbus.” Senku jokes. “We need to make sure they don’t attack as soon as we land. Gen?”

“Leave it to me, dear Senku.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From the outside, everyone saw a calm and collected queen but if you were being honest, you were freaking out.

Just my luck…

When the boat was first spotted, you were quick to defend the island, sending guards to cover the area where the boat was expected to land. As quickly as you could, you met with the village advisors, arguing how to handle the outsiders. It was no surprise to you that your uncle argued against your ideas.

“She just became queen! This decision is too much for her to handle!” your uncle tried to reason. You see your aunt elbow him in the side. Be patient, you remind yourself.

“It is hers to make. We are only advisors. Our duties are to provide our perspectives and advice. It’s the queen’s responsibility how she handles the information. This responsibility lies on her,” a village elder replied.

‘It’s my decision to make,’ you think to yourself as you walk down the hillside, guarded by your sides. You stand at the center of the shore, trying your best to hide your amazement at the size of the boat.

‘Can this even be called a boat?’

It was very much bigger than any boat in your village. The shadow it cast over you, the sound of it landing on the island, watching as the people aboard moved around, and the big thud of wood hitting the sand was enough to bring you back to reality.

‘Am I going to die on the first day being queen?’

You watched as three men walked down the ramp of the boat and began to walk towards you. A man dressed in layers with a purple overcoat walks in front. Following behind him is another wearing blue with a headband. Finally, a man with sparkly eyes, an overly nice smile, and hair that reminds you of…green onions? Your eyes roamed over their bodies, looking for any type of weapon, nothing that you could see. Except for the one wearing blue carrying a suspicious-looking bag.

“Ah!” The man in purple exclaims, his voice sounding frail. “Land at last!” he throws himself to the ground in front of you. “Oh? And who might you be?” he asks, as if he hadn’t noticed the guards surrounding them.

You narrow your eyes at his behavior, even wearier of the outsiders. “I am the queen of Flora Village. Who might you be?” you ask.

“Us?” The man in purple with his eyes shining and watering. “Oh, we're just victims of the vil-eay ocean!” he exclaims. “We almost lost our ship!”

“Ship? You mean this big boat?” you ask, pointing at the wrecked ship behind him.

“Oh my, aren’t you smart and so eautifal-bay” Gen continue to charm you. “And possibly, perhaps generous and kind?” he asks, once again giving you puppy eyes as his lips quiver. Gen is kneeling before you, Chrome and Senku following his lead. Senku finally decides to speak.

“Miss?” his voice overly sweet and soft, catching Gen and Chrome by surprise. “Will you ever be so kind and generous to allow our Kingdom to stay? Just until we repair our ship. Then we’ll be on our way.”

His question is exactly what you were expecting from them.

It’s my decision to make…

At first glance, they seemed harmless. A little too harmless, especially for a kingdom to be sailing on an ocean bigger than all your village's boats combined…but then again…A SHIP! HOW?! You were curious about what else they could offer, and there was only one way to find out…

“As queen…” You walk closer to the men standing in front of you, holding out your hand for a shake, “My village welcomes you.” Senku takes your hand and shakes it.

And to seal the deal…Gen thinks to himself.

“In return for your generous hospitality, we offer you entertainment!” Gen announces, signaling to Chrome to begin his act. “To demonstrate what we can offer to your village, we present to you…. Rainbow Bridge!”

As Chrome begins to pull out the materials from the mysterious bag, it dawns on you what they plan to do. Your defenses relax, and you signal the guards to be at ease. All the villagers watched with anticipation, trying to understand why the rocks appeared to be of great importance.

“Watch as I manipulate fire!” Chrome shouts.

You watched as he threw salt into the fire, and the color of the flame changed to yellow. The villagers gasped in shock, amazed. Others are terrified of the sorcery the outsiders are displaying with pride. But your reaction caught Senku’s attention. You weren’t impressed or scared like the others. Then it hits him. You already know. Before Chrome can throw in the last mineral, Senku’s voice stops him. He needs to know for sure.

“What color do you think the flame will turn when he throws this in sulfur?” Senku asks, handing you a yellow rock, a mineral that you recognize. You hold the mineral as if it were poisonous, holding it far from your body. You hesitate to answer. Do you answer truthfully? Will the villagers connect the dots that you’ve been delving into sorcery, which is looked down upon? You hand the mineral back to him and whisper loudly enough, so the words barely reach his ears, “purple.”

Senku grins and hands the mineral back to Chrome, who throws it into the fire. The flame turned bright purple. Senku looks back at you and notices the small smile on your face as your answer was correct. Yet his mind is trying to wrap around the need to whisper.

“This is the power of science! Science is so bad!” Chrome shouts.

“That’s not science! That is sorcery!” a villager shouts from the back. One negative comment was enough to start a riot with your people. Your smile quickly faded, and Senku quickly connected the pieces. Just my luck…stuck on another island that looks down on science…

You are quick to ease the concerns of the villagers, putting a quick end to their fear of sorcery being allowed inside the village. You turn to look at the three men in front of you, locking eyes with Senku. “I assume you are their leader?”

“Yup, that would be me,” Senku answers.

“There are matters we need to discuss if I am to allow your kingdom to stay. Follow me.”

---

“We welcome you to our village, but you must respect our rules. You and your people are welcome to enter Flora village at your leisure when the sun is up. When the sun is down, you are to stay away from the village and its properties. You may stay at the shore with your ship or set camp in the woods.” You state as you read off the rules you have written in short notice.

“Alright, makes sense,” Senku says as he stands beside you, reading the list you have written.

“After the performance on the shore,” your voice wavering, “I’m sure you understand we might have different viewpoints on sorcery-.”

“Science,” Senku corrects you.

“Sorcery.” You repeat firmly, challenging him to correct you. He doesn’t, he chooses to stay silent despite the itch.

“We have different viewpoints on sorcery. I will respect your customs as you will do ours. You can practice your sorcery on this island, but away from the village. If there are any reports of you practicing inside the village, your kingdom will be asked to leave.”

Senku stays silent. Not due to the conditions you have listed, although there is something that was bugging him, but he’ll have Suika investigate it soon. He stays silent because of what he notices is dangling from your neck. He wasn’t one to care for jewelry, but your necklace was anything but ordinary.

You notice he has yet to agree to your condition. Curious about what the issue is, you look at him. You drop the paper in your hand and gasp as you step back, shocked by Senku’s lack of personal space.

You quickly piece together why he appeared to be distracted. From your point of view, it looked like he was ogling your chest. In reality, Senku was intrigued by your necklace. One that just so happened to be dangling very close to your exposed cleavage. Once you took a step back, Senku took a step forward. His face is inching closer to your chest, with a perverted and creepy smile on his face.

Smack

“What the hell!” Senku shouts as he rubs the side of his face, shock written all over his face. You held your stinging palm close to your chest, regretting the strength you put in the slap.

“I didn’t think I had to state the obvious…” you mumbled as you begin to add a new condition to the list, “no perverted advances to the people of my village.” You write ogling underneath the condition, in case you need to be specific.

“I wasn’t ogling!” Senku counters. You glance back at him with a disgusted look on your face. “If you weren’t ogling, then what were you doing staring at my chest?” you ask. Once again, Senku stays silent a little too long for your liking before he answers.

“…fine…I was…” Senku lies. He can’t give away his interest, he had a hunch that your necklace was important, something he simply couldn’t ask for and expect to get so easily. He needed a plan. Whether you liked it or not, he was going to keep an eye on you.

“Pervert…”

---

After confirming the details of the stay, Senku walked back to the Perseus, where everyone waited for him. In one hand, he carried the scroll where you had written all your conditions, including the one you created solely because of Senku’s actions. On the other hand, Senku was rubbing the side of his face, still trying to ease the pain from your slap. Unfortunately for him, he was unaware of the hand-shaped welt you left him.

“Everyone,” Senku announces, not noticing the confused stares locked onto the mark on his face. Too distracted by his mind reeling with ideas of how to get your necklace. “Things just got interesting, so get excited!” Senku announced with a sadistic smile on his face. “I need their queen!”

---

#senku x reader #dcst senku #dr stone senku #ishigami senku #senku #senku ishigami #senku x y/n #doctor stone #dcst

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not-freyja · 9 days ago

Text

Afterwards

Today, the 30th of May, 2025, marks exactly one year since I published the final chapter of This is an Adjuration. In recognition of this strange anniversary, I would, my dear, dear class, like to tell you another story.

Called many things—The Adjuration, "Freyja's fic," and The Damn Fic—This is an Adjuration is a 300k word beast of a story about grief and inevitably, yes, but mostly about love. About choosing to love, as a radical act of defiance, no matter the cost. I can, and will, talk about this book all day.

But I'm not here to do that. I'm not here to talk about the story.

Instead, today, one year since its completion, I have gotten out my keyboard to talk about writing it.

I have always been a story teller. A childhood spent inventing worlds and plots to pass the time in the woods. Scary stories around campfires. And when I was twelve, I took my first crack at writing a novel.

It wasn't very good.

But that feeling, that indescribable feeling of having written—it was the best feeling in the entire world.

So, I chased it.

I wrote everything, everything that I could. I wrote poetry, short stories, music. I attacked each piece of English homework with the tenacity of a rabid dog. I started writing fanfiction.

And then, one day, I got brave enough to start posting the fanfiction. To take the piece of my heart that I had carved out with a fountain pen and place it in the digital commons for others to read.

(It still wasn't very good.)

And I want you to know, I do not mean that as an insult to my younger self. They were doing the best that they could, and getting better at it day by day. But the work that I was writing as a middle schooler did, in fact, read like it was written by a middle schooler.

The comment section responded in kind. The internet can be a cruel place. But that didn't stop me.

Fast forwarding, I grow up. Life was what life is. Big and beautiful and painful and messy and—

For the sake of my dignity, I will skip the details; but by 2019, I was… not okay. More than not okay—I was bad. Very bad. In fact, I was actively suicidal.

I kept writing, though. Kept telling stories. Kept trying to make sense of the world through the eyes of people that don't quite exist. I don’t know why, not really. Maybe it was because reality was gentler, easier to swallow, through eyes other than my own. Regardless of why, I kept at it, a compulsion that seemed as inevitable as the dawn.

The world turns, and Freyja writes.

And I kept living.

More bad things happened. Some small, some life changing. And so much joy, and beauty, though it was difficult to see it at the time. But then the worst thing—out of all the terrible things I will keep to myself—happened:

I stopped writing.

I put the pen down. More than that, I wanted the pen gone. Broken. De-nibbed. I tore through my ao3, deleting work after work. I chucked notebooks in the fire. In hindsight, it was madness, but at the time the logic was painfully, brutally simple: my words were me, and I wanted me gone. I hated myself, and everything I touched. I bathed myself in shame, and rage, and I thought poison to be a shield against the weight of the world.

…It was a bad time.

Fast forwarding again. It's 2023, and Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom comes out. I play it, of course—LOZ has been a longtime love of mine. I could, and have, written entire essays on that game and its merits (and faults) but… what matters is that I felt it, that old love of storytelling, again. That feeling—it came back to me, playing that game. That old familiar feeling of a story welling itself up inside of my chest and begging to be let out.

I decided to be brave. I decided to pick the pen back up.

First, I wrote the ending, something sorrowful and tragic and final: the exact feeling inside of my own heart.

Then I wrote the prologue, that first step through a one way door for Link.

And I wrote, though I did not know it at the time, that first step for me as well.

See, what you have to understand about me, class, is that I get a bit too attached to fictional characters. I know that they aren't real, that they are constructed vessels for abstract ideas, but even so, I get attached. Very attached.

So with one hell of a story to tell about my dear friend Link, I had a goal. Simple, achievable, and brutal. I would tell his story, and then I would die.

Yeah… surprise, the damn fic started out as a very long-form suicide note. Started out, I say, because it didn't stay that way.

Link—Legend, rather—and I were bound together. He and I stumble into the narrative in the depths of depression and suicidal ideation, the only thing keeping him alive is the fact that he has too many responsibilities to die. The narrative (the act of writing it) gives both of us one more mark of accountability.

Legend is convinced that he will die on this quest. I am certain I will after it. Neither of us had any idea how wrong we were.

In the first chapter, the prologue, I sent us (Link and I) on a quest. His was to save himself. Mine was—I thought—to tell a story. There was a non zero chance that we both failed. The odds were stacked against poor Rulie, and the Chain entire. I hadn't written in years.

In the second chapter, I dragged Legend out of retirement. But more importantly, I dragged myself out of retirement. Adding a second chapter felt like a promise. A commitment. This wasn't just a few words slapped together anymore, this was a narrative.

And the narrative continued.

Chapter after chapter, I shouted into the void in a combined caterwaul of Link's struggle and my own. There were times it grew difficult to write. Arcs and scenes and deaths came that were a true struggle to write, technically, and emotionally. As I said, Link is, to me, a very dear friend. Hurting him so brought me no pleasure (though some of the class' reactions did spark joy—back to that later).

But the narrative continued.

There were days where I was the problem. Where the darkness in my own mind had claws. Where sharp objects and chemical induced oblivion sang like a siren. Life was too much, and too little, and I didn't want to be here anymore. On those days, I wrote twice as fast.

And the narrative continued.

Humans tell stories, you know? It's one of the things that makes us human in the first place: that driving need to weave tales, to search for metaphor and truth in fabricated reality. A tradition that stretches back to the first campfire, the first story.

The story teller talks, and the audience listens, huddled up together in the dark.

That was the image in my mind, as I posted chapter after chapter. I sat before a campfire, telling a story to myself, staring into the flame for fear of what could be waiting in the darkness.

And slowly, people came to sit next to me. They came in the form of a familiar username, leaving a comment after an update for the fifth chapter in a row. Questions. Debates between readers about theories. Drawn out conversation in the comments, breaks in the narration spent not with my own thoughts, but with the audience. You were there. Link and I were no longer alone.

Here, the pressure increased manifold. For adjuration is a word that means two things, and one of those things is a promise, solemn vow. The other is a plea, an earnest urging. I promised Link that I would finish his story, no matter what. I begged him not to leave me while I did. Link and I had a deal, an understanding even, writ large across the story in entire. That this—this work of fiction—is an adjuration.

And then there you were, class. And our adjuration expanded to hold you. "Don't abandon the story," you pleaded.

"I won't. I couldn't," I promised.

The adjuration went the other way, too. "Stay with me. Trust me. Come with Link and I to the end," I begged you.

"We're here. We're listening. Around the fire," you vowed.

And we all kept our promises, didn't we?

The narrative continued.

Somehow, readers became friends. Some of them became family. What was a collection of anonymous usernames are now—somehow—the people I love most.

I will not go on to highlight any specific person, any particular relationship. If I were to begin, I would not stop, and this would become a very long afterword. (Yeah, yeah "15 chapters," I know.) But if you are sitting here, wondering if I am talking about you when I speak of my friends that I made on ao-fucking-3… yes. Yes, I am.

I shouted into the void, and you called back.

Through over three hundred thousand words, eighty six chapters, and ten months, we saw the story through to the end. Link's journey was over. And as for me, well… I had finished telling the story. The metaphorical campfire banked low.

I looked up, at my audience, and I saw how many of you there really were. I tried to prepare myself for the dissolution of our fellowship. Our reason to be together was concluded. People that I had now come to know, to love, had no further use for me.

It was time for you all to leave.

But you didn't. You threw more logs into the fire. "Thank you for the story," you said. "Would you like to listen to mine?"

I would. I really, really would.

It's been a year, now. With no "use" to these relationships. You came for a story, I told it; when it was over, you stayed.

Writing that story was my purpose, for a while. My literal reason for living. Now, a year later— where am I? Who am I?

Well, if you read the Damn Fic, then you know. I am every version of myself that I have ever been. I am a kid who likes stories. I’m a student. I’m a teacher. I’m an addict. I’m staying up way too late writing. I’m in line for a ride with you at Disney World. I’m laughing at a stupid joke. I’m 16 and thinking I won’t live past 25. I’m on the phone with my friends, playing the dumbest game. I’m way past 25. I’m at yet another funeral. I’m at a wedding. I’m getting dumped. I’m falling in love. And I’m so much more, all at once.

And I'm still alive, here in the afterwards, one year past my expiration date.

I have so many more stories to tell you guys. I hope you like them. I hope I tell them well.

The narrative continues. I’m sticking around, and that is an adjuration.

#freyja writes fic #this is an adjuration

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jeankluv · 9 months ago

Text

The tale of the fox and the knight - Satoru Gojo | prologue

summary: You have been living all your life in almost isolation due to your true nature, one your parents want to hide and protect you from anyone finding it. But when the spring of your 20 year your parents grant you the wish of being able to walk around the city, you meet him. Your doom. Satoru Gojo, a white haired knight whose intentions in your eyes are unkown. And whose presence in your life will change everything, from how you see the world to your way of being.

tags: enemies to lovers, blood, eventual smut, Gojo is pretty rude at the beginning, betrayal, fantasy, magical creatures, angst, injuries, heavy language, no use of y/n, female protagonist

notes: this is the prologue of an upcoming series I have in mind, but I’m not sure if I should continue or not. And since I don’t have chapter for this weekend I decided to share it with everyone. So pls give me your honest feedback with this new story of mine

materialist | ch. 01

jujutsu kaisen materialist

“So you know your mission.” The king said.

The white-haired young man smiled proudly. “Of course his majesty.” He bowed. “Kidnap the princess and bring her here in one piece. Still don’t understand why you need a useless princess, does your wife not…”

“Satoru Gojo, do not push your luck. I like you but that doesn't mean I'm not afraid to cut out that tongue of yours.”

He rolled his eyes, not giving importance to the king’s words. “I will depart tomorrow morning.” He said and with a final bow he left the throne room.

Satoru Gojo, he was an orphan, he lost his whole family when he was 6. His family used to be a Nobel and prestigious family due to their abilities, they were well respected by everyone in the kingdom, until that tragic night where everyone was killed, everyone except for the 6 years old boy.

The boy only remembered one thing and it was a flag. The flag from their enemies, the Zerua kingdom.

After finding out about the terrible incident, the king took the young boy with him and raised him as one of his new knights, they couldn’t lose his powerful abilities. So the years started to pass and the boy’s hatred towards that kingdom only grew bigger, his heart was full of rage and he only wanted the royal family to suffer.

Now as a skilled knight, he was going on a mission to kidnap the princess of Zerua. Satoru didn’t quite understand why his king wanted her, apparently she was a helpless princess, rumors said that even a butterfly was stronger than the princess of Zerua, so for Satoru the mission was pathetic, he didn’t understand why he had to bring her to their kingdom, surely she would passed out before reaching the limits of their kingdom.

But that’s not something that Satoru Gojo cared about, in fact, if she died, he would be more than happy to drop her lifeless body in front of the king. But apparently that could not be it and she needed to arrive at the castle in one piece.

The white-haired man walked through the extensive hallways, feeling how the paintings of ancient monarchs pursued him with their gaze, as if they wanted to know every movement and every action that the young man was going to choose.

He went out to the patio and was finally able to breathe the fresh air, with the footsteps of his boots echoing on his way to the barracks where the rest of the knights were.

The eyes of the vast majority of his companions rested on him, Satoru knew that it was envy that everyone there felt. They envied that he was the strongest and the king's favorite.

“So why did his majesty called you?” A deep voice talked to him.

“Why would I tell you?” Satoru smiled provocatively.

“Oh c’mon Gojo just spitted out.” The pink haired one rolled his eyes.

“Sukuna… Don't pull my tongue.” Satoru released his belt and leather vest. “The only thing I’m going to tell you is that I won’t have to see your ugly face for a while.” He grabbed his old jacket, which had a couple of holes sewn badly, and turned around.

“Where are you going?” Sukuna asked him. “You're going to say goodbye to your darling…”

“Sukuna shut your mouth or I'll cut your balls.” He looked over his shoulder at him and Sukuna laughed.

“Alright man.” He l raised his arms asking for a truce. “Enjoy your night Satoru Gojo.” He said turning and walking away as he laughed.

Satoru rolled his eyes and began to walk out of the castle, with an apple in his hands, his destination was clear and Sukuna was right with his words. He wished he could spend a night with his favorite girl. A mischievous smile appeared on his face as he thought about it, but it quickly disappeared when he remembered that he had to leave for Zerua and would therefore be away from there for quite some time.

The aroma of roses mixed with tobacco hit his nose as soon as he entered the place. The place was packed with drunks and partiers who must have had nothing better to do. But his mind eliminated all those and settled on a figure. Long blonde hair, green eyes and a slender figure, Stella. She and Satoru had begun to have intimate encounters when one night they were both alone in that place.

Theirs had never been anything more than sexual desire and that was how they both wanted it. Also, they weren’t exclusive from each other. Because they didn’t care, there was nothing else between them that sexual desire.

Satoru would never give his heart to anyone, he would never fall in love.

“Are you free tonight, beautiful?” Satoru whispered when he got near her.

“Oh Satoru!” She said surprise. “Didn’t expect you to come tonight.”

“Well here I am and…”

“Satoru, I’m sorry but tonight will be impossible.” She looked at him with sad eyes.

“What?” Satoru said with surprise.

“I’m meeting another person tonight.”

“Stella…”

“Satoru, we are nothing so you cannot say anything.” She said.

“Yeah I know… I just… I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

“Leaving?” Stella looked at him confused.

“The king wants me to go on a mission and I will be leaving.” He explained. “I will probably be out for months, don’t know how long.”

Stella smiled with a curiosity reflecting her eyes. “And where are you going?”

Satoru shook his head and took the beer Stella was offering him. “Can’t tell you.”

“Oh…” She pouted. “That’s a shame. Maybe someone finally steals your heart.” She mocked Satoru, knowing he didn’t like that idea.

Satoru made a disgusted face and put the beer aside. "I'd rather be taken prisoner by an orc and kept in his swamp for years, than fall in love with someone from Zerua." Stella smiled widely when Satoru said the name of her mission destination. “You are clever.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “What can I say?” She laughed as Satoru rolled his eyes. “So Zerua… that’s quite interesting.”

“The king ordered but I hate the idea, those people…”

“Oh c’mon sad boy, I’m sure it will be fine.” Stella said.

“Whatever.” He stood up, giving one last drink to the beer. “Wanted to have a goodbye night but… doesn’t matter.” Satoru turned around.

“I hope the stars guide you and you are able to return safely, Satoru Gojo.” He heard Stella saying.

Satoru moved his hand saying goodbye to her and he stepped outside the old bar, looking how the sky was already dark.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

The sunbeam hit you right in the eyes, causing you to turn around trying to continue sleeping. But your peace did not last long when the door to your bedroom opened wide, letting your maids enter.

The voice of the one you consider your best friend echoes through the room. “Princess, it's time for you to get up.”

You thrashed around in the sheets, shaking your head. “Utahime…please.” You begged.

Utahime sighed and approached your bed. “C’mon princess, spring is beginning and the flowers are blooming.”

Your eyes opened and looked at Utahime with a special glow in them. "I can leave?"

Utahime bit her lip and you immediately knew what her response would be. “You can go to your personal garden, but…”

“But there's no more of that, I already know.” You sighed in resignation.

You got out of your bed and followed the same routine as every day; bath, get dressed and then go out to your private garden.

Once your bluish dress was on and your hair was tied with a pretty white bow, which let some subtle strands fall from your forehead, you left your room. Followed of course by Utahime, she was your most faithful companion, your friend, really the only one you had ever had.

Utahime grew up in the castle, her parents had worked there and your parents had let Utahime grow up with you, you were both of the same age.

At 15 she began to work for you, but you hated that term and you hated the concept that your only friend had to be at your command. But Utahime had insisted, that she did not care, that she was fine with it, but you knew that she aspired to more and that in some way wanting to serve the royal family as a thank you for all the help they had given her and her family, was cutting her own wings.

You glanced at her briefly and bit your lip, you knew your friend too well and you knew she wasn't happy.

“Princess?” She called you out loud.

“Huh?” You looked at her. “Oh… I was just thinking.” You smiled.

“Princess, I know it bothers you that you can not leave the castle but…” Utahime began but you cut her.

“I was not thinking about that Uta… I just…” You sighed. “I know you are not happy serving me.” Utahime looked at you and then away from you. “Uta please tell me, tell me what you wish to do. I will do everything to help you.”

Utahime sighed and started playing with her hands, a sign of nervousness. “I… I wish I could… work as a designer…” Your eyes shined looking at her and with a big smile forming on your face. “But that’s not…”

“I will talk with my parents.” You stood up from the seat you were and walked towards her. “I will make sure to send you to the best school and then you will make my dresses and I will…”

“Princess please, calm down.” Utahime took your hands, trying to stop you. “It doesn’t matter, alright? I’m happy with you.”

You bite your lip. “You are not… so don’t tell me it’s okay.”

“Princess…” She sighed.

Your conversation was suddenly interrupted, as the door of your private garden opened. Making the screech echo through the room and causing your gazes to turn to see who it was. Your eyes narrowed and you felt an overwhelming urge to roll them when you saw that it was one of your parents' advisors.

“Princess…” He bowed his head when he got near you. “Their majesties want to meet you.”

“Alright…” You sighed, not really wanting to see them. “We will keep talking about it.” You looked at Utahime.

Utahime didn’t say a word, not because she didn’t want to but because she knew that responding to a member of royalty could lead to punishment. If you were alone, it wouldn't matter, you would never complain about it but Utahime knew that the others wouldn't allow it and could report it to her superiors.

And she couldn’t risk losing everything she had achieved, not when her mother needed medicine and she was the only one bringing money home. But you didn't know that and Utahime didn't want to worry you with her worldly problems either.

You looked one more time to Utahime and then left the place. You walked before the advisor. The sound of your shoes echoed throughout the hallway, nothing else could be heard in the place except for those shoes of yours. A few years ago those hallways were filled with laughter and kids playing around, now there was no sound.

Ever since your coming off age ceremony something changed, your parents started to be more strict about you, they already were when you were younger but now, you could barely meet anyone. Friends? Utahime was the only one and because she was a trusted person, but for the rest, you didn’t have any.

And you knew why was all this, but it was pointless, you couldn’t hide forever your true nature and the family secret everyone has been trying to keep away. Eventually someone would found out. And… well you were a bit terrified.

Your mother used to tell you, not very kind stories about what could happen to you if the wrong people found out. It terrified you but you didn’t want to waste your life in that castle, not meeting the world, not meeting new people.

“Their majesties, the princess is here.” One of the soldiers spoke.

You heard the faint voice of your father speaking, telling you to enter. The big door opened, giving you passage into the throne room, where your parents were seated each in their place and their advisors were on either side. But your eyes fell on a figure you had never seen before, he was tall, much taller than you, and his hair was white as a snowy day. His back was to you, as you walked towards your parents, you saw how he was standing, with a straight and composed posture, as if waiting for an order.

Your name echoed in the room and your eyes looked at your father, who was carefully touching his beard. “We have some news to give you.” Your heart rate accelerated, was that boy who was now to your left going to be your fiancé? No, you didn’t want that. “You will have a personal escort, so you can go out a little more.”

They both smiled and you looked at them stunned, processing their words. “What?” You whispered.

“That’s right, darling, your father and I talked about it and we have decided to let you go out in the kingdom, as long as you are accompanied by at least one guard.” He pointed to the boy who was at your side. “He is Satoru Gojo, he has been practicing and under surveillance for 9 months to become your guard and he has passed all the tests with flying colors.” You looked at the boy in surprise and your breath hitched when you met those blue eyes, which almost reflected your face.

“It’s my pleasure to serve you, princess.” He took your hand and kissed it.

You felt a shiver go through your body, not sure if it was because those blue eyes were penetrating you or because you felt something weird on his smirk.

“The pleasure is mine Sir. Gojo.” You made a small reverence.

“Please you can call me Satoru.” He gave you the most radiant of the smiles.

“Oh…” You broke the eye with him and looked away, to your parents to be more exact. “So… that means I will be able to go outside?” Your eyes shone brightly thinking about what it meant.

“Yes. But remember you always have to be with Gojo.” You nodded. “Good, then that’s everything. You can leave.”

“Thank you father!” You smiled brightly and turned around.

You felt the presence of the white haired man right behind you. From that moment on, he would become your shadow. But also your downfall.

Comment if you wanna be tagged in the future tag list

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simpofhans · 3 months ago

Text

THE COMPLETE FROZEN FRANCHISE TIMELINE IF SOMEONE NEEDS IT :

Pre-Frozen 1 :

Dangerous Secrets (chapters up to Frozen 2 prologue mention)

Elsa's Icy Rescue

Disney Storied Places (In the Beginnings part)

Anna and the King

Anna Finds a Friend

Disney Storied Places (Growing Up part)

The Fixer Upper

A Frozen Heart (chapters up to Frozen beginning)

Frozen Complete Story/Frozen : Elsa and Anna's Saga (first few pages)

Dangerous Secrets (final chapters)

During Frozen 1 :

Frozen (of course)

Once Upon a Snowman

A Frozen Heart (most chapters up to epilogue)

Fantasy Springs/Frozen Kingdom lore

Post Frozen 1 :

Elsa and Anna series

A Frozen Heart (epilogue)

Elsa and the Frost Monster

A Frozen Heart (epilogue)

Dark Horse comics

Joe Books comics

Frozen magazines comics (up to 2020 and after 2024, partially)

Olaf's Frozen Adventure

Frozen Fever

World of Frozen/Summer Snow Day lore

Arendelle Ice Calamity

Winter Festival

During Frozen 2 :

Frozen 2

Novelizations

Myth A Frozen Tale (partially)

Post Frozen 2 :

French Books

Polar Nights : Cast Into Darkness

The Next Right Things

Midsummer Song and Dance

Engaging Anna and Kristoff + Anna and Kristoff engagement party show

Disney California Adventure Hans lore (probably)

Myth A Frozen Tale (probably)

AU'S :

OUAT Season 4 (episodes 1-11)

Disney Speedstorm

Disney Magic Kingdoms (post Frozen 1 - 2016-2018, post Frozen 2 - 2019-2020)

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shinwonderful · 4 months ago

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Freedom of Choice

prologue to Heavy is the Heart (That Wears the Crown) [masterlist coming soon]

part of you hoped you'd be able to avoid this aspect of royalty, but it was inevitable. they would never allow the sole heir to the kingdom of evermoor to remain unmarried. all you can hope for is that one of the suitors you meet will be the true love you've always dreamt of.

⁺✦ seventeen x reader (cyoa style!) ⁺✦ word count: 3.3k ⁺✦ genre: historical, kind of a mix of everything lol ⁺✦ warnings: shitty parents, forced marriage, mention of being pressured into intimacy, i promise i'm not a royalist i just think historical stories of nobility are v romantic

જ⁀➴┊ [🐈] happy valentine's day!! this series has been in the works since november, and i'm so excited to finally post the prologue! this series has come to be very close to my heart, and i'm really excited to share it with you guys!

special thanks to @lovewithoutresin my beautiful bestie for editing and writing the dialogue for the reader's Handmaiden! I love that this series has a piece of you in it too MWAH!!

the prologue and a certain upcoming chapter are dedicated to the lovely @ylangelegy for inspiring me to pick up writing (on tumblr) again after nearly a decade (christ alive i'm old. 💀). if they hadn't been so supportive and expressed interest in this story, i'd likely not have written it. happy valentine's day ilysbbbb

dividers by saradika!

each chapter of this series will have a (relatively lol) period-accurate theme and costume.

this chapter's theme is Fauré: Après un Rêve (ca. 1870).

"A song about devotion and passion. The dreamer yearns for the return of her dreams, in which she met her love: ‘In sleep made sweet by a vision of you’."

the costume for this chapter is this gorgeous afternoon dress (ca. 1835) from the met museum archives.

“All we ask is that you keep an open mind.”

The rattle of the carriage wheels against the meticulously hand-paved road beneath your fancifully cushioned seat was, perhaps, the only thing keeping you grounded at the moment. You could do little but curse them internally, knowing putting up a fight was… tragically futile.

“How do you mean, Mother?”

You already knew the answer to this question, but it bought you a bit of time to school your reaction, to use your decades of lessons in decorum to keep your actual thoughts and feelings from clawing themselves out of your mouth.

After all, for God’s sake, how could they expect you to choose a husband on this supposed ‘diplomatic tour’?

You’d, of course, rolled your eyes when your Handmaiden had told you of their plans (though a much more tumultuous emotion stirred behind your sardonic response). Your parents hadn’t even afforded you the courtesy of a conversation before making arrangements for the tour. Instead, the news was broken only after your Handmaiden heard the rumors in whispers that echoed through the long, hollow halls of your castle. (Pro Tip: Having a best friend on your staff never stops being helpful.) You knew what this was, and it wasn’t simply diplomatic. At least, not in the usual sense.

You knew what this was– everyone did. You were of the age where courtiers began to whisper about your lack of husband, gossiping about why the Crown Heir of Evermoor had yet to even begin the courting process. Why so many requests for meetings had gone politely rejected.

The truth was much less salacious than popular theory– as is usually the case. Quite simply, you’ve just yet to meet an eligible bachelor that doesn’t make you physically recoil at the prospect of being wed to them. Between the Dukes whose eyes on your female staff were… less than respectful and Counts who couldn’t make it longer than thirty seconds without saying something to stroke their own egos, you’d rather shovel the stables by hand than meet with any prospects for the time being.

There had been a close call once, just a few months back, where you’d met with a neighboring King who was charming enough at first. That is, of course, until the bastard had tried to pressure you into necking with him after dinner one night. You sent him packing on the spot. And your parents, the Queen and King, were irate. Apparently, not offending the royal family was more important than your honor.

Which, tragically, prompted them to force your hand into embarking on what would be your ‘grand tour’ throughout the nearby kingdoms. Officially, it was a tour to introduce you as the Crown Royal to your (pre-established and potential alike) ally’s own Royal Families. To establish a line of communication and get to know each other sooner rather than later. But none were gullible enough to miss the writing on the wall. You were unmarried, and most of the kingdoms you’d be visiting had unmarried royal sons of their own to offer. After all, for a royal as high-ranking as yourself, it’s most appropriate for you to marry other ‘high-value’ royalty. Those who would be Counts in their own right someday, some even Kings. Any children born would rule over both domains, doubling your families’ power and influence in the realm. (And that was all anything was ever about. Cue eye roll.)

Perhaps you’d have fought harder if you thought there was the slimmest chance of getting your way, but… why kid yourself? This was an inevitable. Since you were young, you’d known your fate would be that of most born of noble blood. To be used as a bargaining chip, a pawn in someone else’s game– one neither of you had elected to play.

Sure, there had been a time many years ago where you’d find yourself in despair over this. Growing up, your favorite stories were the ones told of love triumphing over all. You’d go to your balcony in the dead of night, wishing to any power that could hear you to be one of the lucky ones. For you to have the chance at a marriage of love. A husband you chose not because of the family crest he bore, but for the tender affection he showed you. The way he lit up your world, coloring your bluest nights into the tender pinks of the sunrise. Someone who was well and truly yours, divorced from the way nobility are traded like commodities, but how love brings two souls into one, merging until you can’t remember where you end and he begins. A love like poetry. A love worth writing about.

But those days were long behind you. Even the most hopeless of all romantics can’t resist the effects of erosion, the cynical waves of the ocean clawing at the coast until even something so eternal as the Earth itself gives way, becoming part of the ocean it once fought to resist so vehemently. Holding onto that optimism… at some point begins to hurt you more than it helps you. And so you, once as steady as the Earth in your quest for love, you surrendered to cynicism just as steadily, until you, too, found it hard to believe that love in the pure sense even existed at all.

Of course, those were the times when your Equerry would ask you to accompany him on a trip to the local market. After all, none could read you quite like him. It came with the territory– his job, of course, to be your shadow. To care for you, and to watch over you. And he took his role very seriously. To him, this meant to help you through not just your meetings with the steward, but also to watch for signs that your spirits need lifting (despite this not technically being in his duties). And seeing how your mouth twitched into a frown any time someone mentioned the concept of love the past few months? He didn’t have to be a scholar to read you.

So he pulled you into the castle’s preferred bakery, calling for Mister and Missus Kim and producing a beaming smile when the pair came out from the back to say hello. The couple’s eyes shined every time they looked at one another, and the three of them talked about the castle’s weekly order as you watched from near the door, mindlessly eyeing the pastries on display in the cabinet, trying to ignore the way your chest fluttered just being around something so beautiful. She held a toddler on her hip, and the moment it crossed your mind that she was looking tired from holding the boy, her husband instinctively grabbed him, placing him to lay upon his own chest instead. It was as if they had their own language, something silent but incredibly tangible that tied them together. And it was a sight to behold.

Your heart felt much less heavy on the ride home, your eyebrows quirked in thoughtful wishing instead of the bitter resignation they tended towards. Your Equerry said nothing, his hands smoothing against the hat he’d placed on his lap as he smiled softly. He didn’t need your words to know he’d done well, even if he would love to hear them. But alas, the you of the present day was much too timid to speak what was on your mind. The thoughts were much too soft for someone who was to someday rule over this nation. But maybe, you thought, maybe you were what was too soft. Maybe fate had played a cruel joke in making you the only one who could govern your beloved country once your parents no longer could. Maybe it was all a fool’s errand.

Because you couldn’t help but feel that… perhaps you’ll never be lucky enough to possess a love of your own, but you’re more sure than you’ve ever been that love is one of the finest things humanity has to offer– so real, so tangible that it shone through the dark clouds hanging over your head. And you’d do anything it took to feel its embrace, even for the smallest moment in time.

It was hard to contend with the idea people had in their head about you at times. To them, you were the Crown Heir of Evermoor. Sole Heir at that. Flowers bloomed bright the day you were born, and (according to folklore) it’s impossible for a flower to wilt if it’s been blessed by your presence.

You care deeply for your nation, making certain your Equerry schedules an allotment every few weeks for you to visit the capital’s town square, relishing in the bustle of the city and the chatter of those hard at work, or those working to forget their hard day at work. But when they notice you, they’re quick to forget what they were doing. Instead, they either gawk openly, or rush to have their moment with you. Something they’ll remember for a lifetime; ‘the time the Crown Royal complimented my pelerine’ or ‘the time I made the Crown Royal smile by presenting them with a rose’.

But at home? You’re just… you.

You’re sprawled out over your plush bed, dressed down to your chemise and pantaloons as your Handmaiden helped you sneak a second dessert to share, shutting the door to your quarters quietly as she, too, leapt to join you in your bed with a mischievous smile (though there was an unspoken tension in the air that neither of you cared to address just yet). Your hair hit your shoulders in what were once carefully-manicured curls that had loosened throughout the day. If it were anyone else, you’d be shamed for the lewdness of this moment, but this was another perk to having your best friend as your Handmaiden. With her, this was perfectly appropriate. Even if it wasn’t technically in the spirit of the rules.

The upcoming months hung over you like a death sentence. Tonight would be one of your last as a single person, one of the last you’d not be betrothed– or worse, married. At the end of the week, you’d be leaving on your tour. Leaving the only home you’d ever known to stay at palace after palace belonging to strangers who intended to sell you on their sons. And if there’s one thing you knew; the only thing more formidable than your citizens competing for your attention is dozens of nobles doing the same. At least your people had some sense of dignity.

Today was one of the last nights you’d be free to kid yourself into believing that, by some miracle, you’d get the fairytale ending you’ve always dreamed of. Because once you left the borders of Evermoor, there would be no returning without the burden of a ring on your finger, its center stone heavy with insurmountable expectations and a destiny you’d never get to seek.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the loud clink of a fork on your Handmaid's plate– a clearly theatrical gesture.

“So?” She sat her plate aside without looking away from you. When you gave her no indication that you knew what she was about to broach, she continued, her voice casual and innocent. “How long were you planning on moping about for? I just mean to ensure we stay on schedule.”

Eyes still trained on the plate of Ratafia Cake in front of you, you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at one corner of your mouth. You gave her a thoughtful hum. “I was thinking… maybe a couple more decades? Don’t want to overdo it, of course.” You looked to her with a facetious grin.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t buying it. “That sounds about right. I wouldn’t want to waste any more precious time I can’t get back either.” She kept the dry tone, but there was evident concern on her features. Perhaps a bit of frustration as well.

Your smile faltered, the truth in her words hitting a little too close to the truth for comfort. You resorted to pushing your cake around on the small saucer, the prospect of eating suddenly much less alluring as the truth settled in your stomach like a stone. Your voice came out barely over a whisper; “What else can I do? It's not as if I have any say in the matter. I've pushed this off as long as I can. My parents…” You take an exasperated breath, “They aren’t going to budge this time.”

The pretense was dropped then, and she shifted to get comfortable, tone more serious. “I know. It's not fair the way this is happening. I hope you know I am really sorry about that.”

“I just… don't think that the way you're thinking about this is really helpful to you.” She looked off, thought for a moment, then turned back to pick the situation apart. “We can't change the situation. So the way I see it, you have a few options here.”

You placed the cake to the side then, shifting to lean against the bedpost. Part of you felt the urge to dig in your heels, to protest, but unfortunately one of your best friend’s qualities happens to be that she’s almost always right about these things. So instead, you bite your tongue, nodding for her to continue.

“Option One; you go on the tour. You grin and bear it with the suitors. And really, you’ll only be with each of them for a short time. So if they’re that terrible, you’ll be out soon enough. Don’t worry about months or years from now– just focus on getting through this part. One step at a time.” She picked up her cake again, taking a shamelessly large bite and swallowing it quickly.

“I hate that you’re being made to choose this. But think of it this way: you do get a choice if you go. You can at least focus on trying to influence things to make your life easiest. And maybe you will end up liking someone, at least enough to try. I mean, the odds are one of them won’t be completely insufferable. And if they all are, I promise to let you mope until the end of time, okay?”

That has you laughing again, turning to look at her fully. “Careful; I may actually take you up on that. I really think I’ve yet to fully realize my true potential in the field of being annoying. And as my Handmaiden, you have special privileges as my guinea pig for just that.” You give her an easy smile, leaning on one side while you pick up your cake once more.

But as you take another bite, you ponder her words carefully. As suspected, she was right once again. Most noblewomen are not as lucky as you’ve been. You made it this far without being betrothed, and even then your parents are still allowing you the choice of who to marry instead of forcing someone upon you. So while the situation is certainly unideal… she’s right to say that you still have some freedom of choice. And while small, it’s best to count your blessings whenever they come, lest it drive you mad.

“You’re right.” You pause, trying to find a way to say what you mean without sounding naive. Or worse, corny. “What I want may be out of question, but I suppose any choice is better than none.” You furrow your brow for a moment, lost in thought. “Perhaps… some of these suitors also mourn this choice. Love may be off the table, but… perhaps we can be friends–” You pause once more, laughing softly. “–who just so happen to be married.”

You’re not sure why it took you so long to reach this conclusion. After all, noble as they may be, these suitors are human just as you are. Each of them have their own thoughts, goals, desires, dreams. And perhaps, like yours, theirs is also stifled by this imposed choice. Perhaps.

“Exactly,” she replied, face brightening a bit at your change in tone. “And… well, who knows?” She shrugged, not going any further into the thought. “At any rate, it won’t necessarily hurt to have a partner in crime.”

“My, my– are you suggesting that I replace you now?” You tease her.

“Right. So what's Option Two, then?”

“Option Two; we let the kingdom burn, run away in the night and live on the lam. That one has a few kinks to work out.” She played it as straight as she could, but it was obvious from her face that she was trying to be funny.

Your laughter comes out in a snort, her words catching you by surprise. “You know what? I'm half tempted to take you up on that. But I don't think Mr. Stick-in-the-mud Equerry would go for it. Tragic.”

“Oh, forget him,” she said lightly. “We can do it on our own.” She finished the last bite of her dessert.

You try to ignore the way you immediately feel guilty imagining the expression on your Equerry's face if he knew the details of this conversation. Even tonight, you had to practically beg him to take the night off so you could have this time with your Handmaiden. He's been practically glued to your side since the news of your fate reached him, ever protective of you. He means well, but… a girl needs to breathe sometimes. You can only imagine what he'd do, how he'd feel if you fled. You scrunch up your face apologetically at your Handmaiden, still smiling. “Sorry. Maybe next time.”

She laughs, shaking her head at you softly. “Seriously, though. Just try, okay? There must be some part of this that could work out for good.”

As you, too, finish the last bit of your cake, you nod solemnly in return. “Alright. I'll… try. But only because you asked me to.” You answer with an air of drama. “We should both hope this goes well. After all, he’ll soon be your problem just as much as he’ll be mine. It's your neck on the block too,” You joke.

“Don't I know it,” she replied, and collected the dish back from you. “And God help us both.”

“We just don’t want you to be so… dismissive. Alright, dear? Give them a chance. They just might surprise you. You’ve been so picky, and we won’t tolerate a repeat of last time.”

The words of your Father hit your ears like an arrow, and you’re rearing back to spit a harsh retort when you feel your Equerry place a steadying hand on your shoulder, just out of view of your parents across from you both. Looking at him, he gives you a sympathetic smile that does little to alleviate your anger, but it succeeds in holding you back if only because you hate fighting with your parents in front of him. (It stresses him out having to play the middle-man when he wants to have your back with no question.)

So you take a deep breath, letting your Father’s words linger in the air of the carriage, which suddenly felt hopelessly stuffy.

It wasn’t fifteen minutes later that the carriage slowed to a stop, signaling the end of your journey to meet the first of your suitors. Your heartbeat quickened, and as your attendant opened the door to the carriage, the sun pricked at your eyes.

While you waited as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you noticed an unfamiliar hand reaching into your carriage, offering for you to grab to assist you out. “May I help you, Your Highness?”

And though it felt like diving into frigid waters in the black of night, you took the stranger’s hand.

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oneeyedlove · 3 months ago

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The dance of desire.

Prologue

summary | Malora Martell had been betrothed to the future heir to the Iron Throne, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, from a very early age. The arrangement was meant unify the kingdoms and the hearts of the young royals but an unexpected obstacle interfered with such intentions: Prince Aemond’s obsession with the dornish young woman.

pairing | Aemond Targaryen x Martell!oc x Jacaerys Velaryon

wordcount | 377

tags | mentions of death, character introduction.

note | Hii, Im sry ive been so inactive lately but im finally back! This is a brief introduction to my oc and the story in itself, there will be MANY more chapters. This WILL be a love triangle cause im in love with both of them. Also there WILL be plot changes and my oc’s story is probably not gonna make much sense with canon. English is not my first language and this is my first time writing an actual book (i will be cross posting on wattpad and maybe Ao3) so any suggestions are appreciated! Enjoy reading 💕

next chapter

[find it on wattpad and see the character moodboards here]

For as long as she could recall, Mallora Martell wished for that which she could never have.

As early as infancy, the girl ached with a desire for adventure. Inspired by the tales of her ancestor, Princess Nymeria, every waking thought was devoted to imagining herself as a fearless warrior, leading a fleet of Dornish ships to conquer foreign lands.

As the moons passed, another fervent desire consumed her heart. She yearned for a younger sister, a companion who would look up to her with unwavering admiration, just as she did to own older sibling, Aliandra. And though she held no resentment towards her twin brother, the boy had proved himself a match to herself in each and every aspect – fact that excluded him as the target of her cravings. The day their mother revealed her third pregnancy was a moment of unbridled joy for the girl. It felt as if the Seven had finally heard her silent prayers, bestowing upon her at least one of her wishes. Yet, unbeknownst to her, a hidden cost would follow such blessing.

The blissful day arrived when her long-awaited sister was born, but instead of unrestrained happiness, the event stirred a new desire within Mallora. Frantic prayers and anguished screams were hurled towards the heavens, though it seemed the gods paid no heed. Her mother met her fate in the same bed that welcomed her sister into the world – a cruel curse of destiny that enveloped them both.

At the tender age of five, the young Martell refrained from seeking anything, her once hopeful and imaginative persona hidden inside a sorrowful heart. The Prince of Dorne, her father, became absent after his wife’s death; a broken shell of the man he used to be. Alongside him, the laughter and excitement that echoed through the halls of Sunspear ceased, grieve tackling the family’s spirit. But in the quiet of a single,dark night, Mallora allowed herself to wish again. A fleeting glimpse of the need to escape her reality made itself known: she wished to be far away from her home, to be someone else entirely.

It is said that fate has a strange sense of humor, and sometimes, in its twisted game, one gets exactly what they wished for.

#aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen x reader #jacaerys smut #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #prince jacaerys #prince aemond #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys x you #jacaerys valaryon x reader #house martell

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ingeniousmindoftune · 12 days ago

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Trap King’s Mistress

Synopsis: In the heart of Atlanta, two drug empires clash for dominance. Southside’s trap king Kash Rivers rules with strategy and silence, while Trap Mitchell of the Northside fuels his kingdom with fire and fear. Their feud is legendary—dead bodies, double-crosses, and broken alliances. But none of that compares to the betrayal brewing in secret. Zyra Mitchell, Trap’s wife, has everything money can buy—except freedom. When she crosses paths with Kash at a charity gala, sparks ignite. What begins as flirtation turns into a full-blown secret affair. Kash knows better, but Zyra feels like a habit he can’t kick. She’s not just beautiful—she’s bold, and Kash sees the pain behind her perfect smile. But secrets don’t stay buried in the streets. As Kash and Zyra get deeper into each other, old enemies close in. Trap grows suspicious, and the walls begin to close. When Zyra falls pregnant, questions arise. Whose baby is it? And what happens if Trap finds out? Lines get blurred. Loyalty is tested. Blood will spill. In a world where love is war and power is everything, one woman holds the fate of two empires between her thighs—and only one man will come out alive.

CHAPTER ONE

Two years earlier, leading up to Prologue.

The crystal teardrops of the chandeliers trembled overhead, scattering a honeyed glow across the obsidian glass table. Polished Carrara marble veins ran beneath their feet; heavy velvet drapes pooled at the walls, embroidered in gold thread that caught stray flickers of light. Even the chairs—upholstered in cream silk and accented with gilded scrollwork—couldn’t warm the hush that lay between them.

Zyra Mitchell sat ramrod-straight, her off-the-shoulder ivory gown hugging every curve like spun sugar. The fabric gleamed where it caught the light, clinging to her ribs and hips as though tailor-made for sin. Her cheeks were sculpted, lips lacquered the color of ripe pomegranates, and soft waves of chestnut hair framed her shoulders. Only her eyes betrayed her: the cool blue of winter lakes, hardening by the moment.

Across the table, Trap Mitchell lounged in a perfectly cut black tuxedo, the satin lapels still—so far—untainted by a crease. His phone lay open in one hand; his thumb flicked through messages as if the woman seated before him didn’t exist.

Zyra cleared her throat, the sharp sound cracking the silence like a whip. “This the part where you ask me how my day was?”

He didn’t glance up. Instead, he slid a thumb against the screen. “If I wanted small talk, I’d go to church.”

She leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, the slit of her gown revealing a flash of thigh. “You ever gonna stop punishing me for being smarter than you thought?”

His thumb froze, mid-scroll. He didn’t look up, but she felt the shift in the air.

“You was smart the day I met you,” he said flatly, voice low enough to stir the velvet drapes. “But lately? You gettin’ bold.”

“Maybe bold is what it takes to be heard in a room where a man only talks to his money and his enemies.” She tipped her wine glass, watching the ruby liquid slosh against the crystal rim.

Trap finally raised his head. His dark eyes met hers with the chill of a winter dawn. “Watch your mouth, Zyra. You start sounding too much like a threat.”

A slow smile curved her lips, crimson against ivory. “No, baby. I sound like a wife.”

He gave a dry, humorless laugh that rattled in the hollow room. “Wife. Right. That’s why you’re always running off to charity boards and art exhibits—pretending you care about anything outside this house?”

Zyra’s palm closed around the stem of her glass, knuckles whitening. “Maybe I just like being seen. Ever think about that?”

He pushed back from the table, the polished soles of his shoes clicking on marble. At six-foot-two, he loomed over her, shoulders broad as the city that raised him. He planted his fists on the tabletop, leaning in so the candlelight carved hard shadows across his jaw.

“You are seen,” he said, voice a low rumble. “I keep you in designer. Keep your mama’s house paid off. Keep these vultures off your back.” He stepped so close she could feel the heat radiating from his coat. “Don’t mistake luxury for freedom.”

Her breath hitched. She set the glass down, the tap of crystal on wood echoing like a gunshot. “And don’t mistake obedience for love.”

They held each other’s gaze, the air humming with things left unsaid. Then Trap straightened, spun on his heel, and stalked out. The click of the door behind him cracked through the quiet—louder than any curse.

Zyra stayed perfectly still as a draft rolled in, stirring the candles and sending tendrils of cold across her bare shoulders. Plates of untouched caviar and quenelles lay before her like offerings she had no appetite for. She lifted the wine again, tilted it to her lips—and let it burn on the way down. Her hand shook, but it wasn’t fear. It was fury.

She traced a fingertip along the gilded edge of the table, the gold cold beneath her skin. This room—this palace—was her cage.

Her stomach knotted. Not because she needed dinner. Not for diamonds or a title. She was hungry for choice, for color, for someone who saw her as a woman, not a trophy.

Somewhere in Atlanta, a man she’d never met was watching her. Didn’t know her voice or memorize the curve of her collarbone. Yet he felt like promise—a wildfire waiting to scorch her world and set her free.

One day soon, he’d come for her.

#black writer #black writers #black fanfiction #imagines #ingeniousmindoftune #fanfic writers #michael b jordan #blackwomen #mbj #michael b jordan x black!oc #black urban writers #urban stories #black urban writer

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ira-hydrangea · 4 months ago

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Twisted Sugar Realm Masterlist

You can find your journey progress here along with some other notes. If you forget something, feel free to ask me in inbox.

The journey to Sugarveil Haven is not an easy one. Only after passing the several trials from the other kingdom will a traveler be granted entry into the kingdom. However, for those who succeed, Sugarveil Haven offers not just answers but the possibility to change the fate of the realms

Whenever it be through uncovering the truth behind the Chosen Cookie or learning how to combat the rising darkness threatening to consume all. It is a place where secrets are revealed, but only to those brave enough to face the challenges set before them.

Prologue {How The story Begin}

The Crystal Shards {Explanation}

The Bestowal of Crystal Shards to 7 Protectors {World building}

Crimson Tartland

A kingdom of strict order and absolute law, where every citizen must follow the Crimson Court’s unyielding rules. The land is adorned with dark berry tarts and thorny crimson roses, symbolizing both beauty and punishment. Those who defy the laws risk being judged by the Crimson Judge and his enforcers, with no chance for mercy.

Backstory + Crimson Court

The 5 Cookies of Crimson Court

Prologue

Chapter {1} {2}

Cinnamon Dune

A vast desert kingdom where golden cinnamon sands swirl under an eternal, sunlit sky. Ruled by a merchant-king, this realm thrives on trade, treasure, and fate, where fortunes can change as quickly as the shifting dunes. However, behind its wealth and charm, ancient secrets and long-buried curses lurk beneath the sands.

Backstory

Molasses Abyss

A dark, enigmatic kingdom submerged in the depths of a midnight-hued sea of molasses. Those who dare enter must navigate its eerie, ever-changing labyrinth of syrupy tides, ruled by a cunning sovereign who thrives in mystery and secrets. It is said that nothing enters Molasses Abyss without being rewritten by its depths—including fate itself.

Backstory

Gilded Sugar Oasis

A kingdom of opulence and grandeur, where golden rivers of honey flow through palatial gardens. It is a paradise of luxury, ruled by a benevolent yet extravagant ruler who believes happiness is best found in riches and indulgence. Yet, the land’s golden façade hides a delicate balance—too much excess, and even the sweetest dreams can turn bitter.

Backstory

Crystallized Belle

A breathtaking realm of shimmering sugar-crystal formations, where light refracts into dazzling colors. The kingdom is a place of perfection and beauty, ruled by a sovereign who seeks to sculpt a flawless utopia. However, beneath its ethereal glow, some whisper that those who cannot meet its high standards simply... disappear.

Backstory

Candied Circuit

A mechanized metropolis of endless gears, where electricity crackles through neon-lit sugar roads. In this futuristic kingdom, progress and invention never stop, ruled by a genius leader who seeks to push the limits of technology. But with each innovation comes sacrifices, and some wonder if this ever-moving city is truly alive or merely running on pre-programmed perfection.

Backstory

Eclipsed Sugar Hollow

A twilight kingdom veiled in eternal dusk, where the stars glisten like powdered sugar against the indigo sky. Magic and mystery intertwine in this realm, ruled by an enigmatic sovereign whose powers are whispered to be as ancient as the land itself. Though it appears serene, many fear that something powerful slumbers within the Hollow—waiting to awaken.

Backstory

The Sugarveil Haven

The final sanctuary hidden deep within the Twisted Sugar Realm, shrouded in a mystical veil that only the worthy may pass through. Said to be the purest and most sacred land, this kingdom is the heart of ancient magic, where the Chosen Cookie bestowed the fabled Crystal Shards. However, one cannot reach Sugarveil Haven easily—only those who have overcome the trials of the other kingdoms may set foot within its hallowed grounds.

Backstory

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland au #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom #cookie #twisted sugar realm #twst x reader

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cherryfennec · 10 months ago

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Quickly wrote a long overdue summary of the Bad End AU Prologue that I can send to people if they ever ask me about the plot. Ahem!

THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR PAPER MARIO 64, PAPER MARIO TTYD AND SUPER PAPER MARIO.

The Prologue:

The story begins following the first Paper Mario game in the series where Bowser originally obtains the Star Rod. During the final battle between Mario and Bowser, Peach watches as her hero in red starts to loose to the Koopa King, due to not being able to match the Star Rods accumulated power. She gets a chance to make a wish to the stars, however instead of wishing for the Star Rods magic to be nullified (like in the original game), she instead wishes for her and Mario, who is at the brink of Game Overing, to be taken to safety immiediately. The heroes proceed to stay low during his recovery, planning how to stop Bowser who continues his evil deeds unbothered for now.

After this we skip to the events of the second game in the series, The Thousand Year Door. Just like in the canon, Peach invites Mario to search for the hidden treasure of Rogue Port. Due to the rumors, she believes that whatever they find behind the legendary sealed Door can help them defeat the now Star Powered Bowser. Mario of course accepts.

The plot continues similarly to the original game plot, up until Chapter 4 that is. Mario proceeds to get his name and body stolen by Doo_liss, however in this timeline he and Vivian happen to be out of luck since the crows who originally had the information about the tricksters name are nowhere to be seen. Mario becomes trapped in Twilight Town, with his memory starting to fade as a side effect of turning into a shadow. Meanwhile Doo_liss leaves the town, with now 4 Crystal Stars in his pocket, and proceeds to exploit his new identity. Shortly after he disbands the party, simply because he has no care for the original quest.

He is later found by the two remaining Shadows, Beldam and Marilyn, who convince him to give up the Stars after peaking his curiosity about what's behind The Thousand Year Door.

With no more Mario around, the remaining stars are discovered with the map that was left in Doo_lisses pocket and Peach is ultimately used as a vessel for the Shadow Queen who has world domination plans of her own. Doo_liss also swears his loyalty to her, alongside the remaining Shadow Sisters, since he doesn't want to get on the bad side of someone who could end him right then and there when he can just follow some orders when summoned once in a while and use the rest of his time for having fun.

The Queen returns to the Mushroom Kingdom and proceeds to make a treaty with Bowser, who returns the castle and the rule over Toads to her under a few conditions.

After this we do yet another skip, this time referring to the plot of the third game, Super Paper Mario. Count Bleck arrived as the castles doorstep, making a proposition to the Queen of The Mushroom Kingdom. He promises an artifact of great power that could destroy whole worlds, known as the Chaos Heart by the Ancients. As an old demon herself she recognises the potential of gaining it and agrees help summon it.

With little trouble to convince Bowser to marry her, the ceremony is held and The Chaos Heart appears as planned. There starts to be sudden big ruckus among the guests caused by unexpected explosions around the altar of unknown origin. Before anyone could however react, someone steals the ancient artifact and dissapears without a trace.

The thief is seen again after some time, now looking different than before as well as acting rather off with talking to seemingly air and going from being able to fulfill certain tasks to being unable to do them mere seconds later. He is recognised by Bowser as Marios brother, much to Doo_lisses annoyance.

One day the thief he just started hanging around The Mushroom Castle before being ultimately accepted as a part of the main group of evil, as uncooperative as he can be, with the Queen hoping she can one day turn him into a loyal servant or take what's rightfully hers.

The General Description of The Current Plot:

The current events of the AU revolve around the group of villains, that the main four has now become, trying to take over the rest of the land and other Kingdoms, inconveniencing and eliminating their enemies, finding artifacts of power as well adapting to the current reality. Unfortunately their plans tend to get inconvenienced, or even foiled, by their own faults such as overestimating their own abilities, being stubborn and unable to cooperate effectively often and just not getting well alongside eachother in general. In other words: hijinks ensue!

Main Events of The Story: TBA

#BadEndAU #paper mario #ttyd #spm

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phoenixtakaramono · 4 days ago

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Chariot and Wolf - Chapter 1 Preview (Part 1/ ?)

(Note: this comes from an earlier draft, so there might or might not be some small changes in the final version that’ll be uploaded to AO3 once the prologue is done.)

CONTEXT

Sneak-Peek:

Fate had always been in the realm of the gods, though even the gods were subject to it.

For as much as mankind, immortals, and gods believed they were the masters of their destiny and could control the little things in life, with those small decisions adding up to the everyday, the overall shape of their lives were not theirs to decide. They were at the mercy of the Moirai—the three Fates who weaved their futures from their spindles on their craftsman’s loom and snipped life threads short. From the beginning, the Fates determined which souls would be born, the course of events, what kind of lives they would live, and for how many days. It was always ever thus.

It was during the month of Hekatombaion, during the important Panathenaic Games held every four years to honor the goddess Athena, when Queen Anticlea fell into labor, sending all into an uproar. On a warm midsummer night, dark and moonless, the midwives, along with the queen’s female relatives and friends tending to her through the moving image of eternity, finally heard the wails of a healthy baby boy.

They had delivered the firstborn son of an Argonaut, King Laertes and his wife, Queen Anticlea.

Their kingdom, at last, had a legitimate heir.

Whilst the exhausted queen slept, the wet-nurse, a dark-haired woman who wore a kekryphalos—a wide-woven woven caul secured around the front of the head, with a pouch in the back where the majority of her hair was tucked inside the elastic cap—presented the sleeping newborn prince before the queen’s honored parents.

The honored servant was named Eurycleia; she had been sold to King Laertes as a young girl, having been treated as an honored servant in his household for many years, that she was almost regarded as the king’s second wife. However Laertes never had Eurycleia attend to him in the bed, out of respect for his principal wife whom he loved. As his trusted servant, Eurycleia had been tasked to attend to the baby’s needs during the queen’s postpartum recovery.

When the servant Eurycleia took this soft delicate creature into her arms, holding him with the utmost care and delicacy, she found herself seized with emotion. Eurycleia fell into a daze looking at the tiny sleeping face peeking from the blue swaddling cloth. Her heart swelled. Although he had been born from another woman’s womb, at this very moment, she felt a mother’s unconditional love wash over her.

Stepping forward, very gently Eurycleia laid the tender sleeping prince upon the aged Autolycus’ knees and addressed respectfully, “The Wolf Itself, Autolykos, you who have dared to battle wits against the craftiest of men, King Sisyphus, may you find a name to give to your child's own child; for he has much been prayed for.” She didn’t dare suggest a name to him, for it was neither her place nor did they share any blood ties, but she could provide a gentle hint.

Wearing a handsome wolf pelt draped over one shoulder, Autolycus, fleet-footed and fleet of fingers, cradled his grandson who had surprised everyone and whose sudden birth sent all into a flurry of panic. He scrutinized him. Looking at the wisps of soft dark down on the infant’s head, it was still much too early to tell whom this child would take after in appearance, whether it was his birth mother or his royal father—or perhaps someone else in their ancestry. But the prince’s penchant for trickery proved innate—perhaps an influence of the child’s great-grandfather. Peering at the infant’s ruddy cheeks, the old Autolycus was once again confronted with the disappointing reality that his family could not have the fortune of ichor running golden through their veins. Only red mortal blood.

Grazing his thumb over the child’s eyelid, he suddenly recalled the servants’ secret whisperings. The prince had been born with marigold eyes. Just like their daughter’s. Just like his. The sort that picked up whatever hue was near. Like a creek dappled in morning light, a dirty stain of gold, darkening into a warm brown around the two innermost black eclipses.

In the past, Autolycus had the dubious honor of being visited, and rewarded for his faithful sacrifices to him, by his swift-footed father with his gold wand, who’d been absent most of his life; glimpsed a glimmer of marigold beneath his shadowed features. There'd been a hint of twisted playfulness which had softened some of the immortal’s merciless edges, lending his youthful beauty a trace of humanness. There was something there, in the defined angles and deep shadows cast over the Messenger God’s marble-like face, the sharp line of his smooth clean shaven jaw, the two wicked slashes of his lips, the hollows of his cheeks, and a pair of eyes the color of pure unsullied ichor which glowed bright gold beneath the wide brim of his winged hat.

But just like strong wine which had been diluted with water, the more and more bloodlines would mix into theirs, the more watered down their bloodline would be. Autolycus’ own sons, as well as his two daughters, Anticlea and Polymede, and now this grandchild, proved evidence of that. None of his children could do something he found as simple as changing horned cattle into hornless ones and brown cows into white ones. Perhaps this was the fate of all borned demigods, who weren’t immortal, destined to live out a life more mortal than divine. There’d come a time in the distant future when the strength of their gifts faded, when a descendant from their bloodline would be no different from that of any other Achaean.

“Since I have angered many, both men and women,” Autolycus announced, in a moment of pure sardonic pique, "as I am a legendary untouchable thief hated by all, let the name of the child be ‘Odysseus.’” Lifting the infant higher with both hands, Autolykos told the future king, “I have high hopes for you, little Odysseus.”

Eurycleia bowed her head. To be wroth against, to be angry or cause hate—a fierce name, strong in meaning, bestowed as an honor to himself. The name betrayed the weight of Autolycus’ expectations and the value he placed on his grandson.

It was said that the Three Sisters of Fate spun a person’s destiny within three nights of their birth. The first sister, Clotho, a young maiden on the left, spun the fibres of a child’s life while in the womb into a single thread, from her distaff onto her spindle. The older and more matronly sister in the center, Lachesis, held the rod used to measure their golden thread of life, for the length of a child’s life, experiences, and the number of tribulations they were predestined to face were determined from her fingers. Then came Atropos—cronely, haggardly, old. Inevitable. The sister whom most were frightened by, for in her gnarled hand held the terrible shears used to cut the thread of life, choosing the manner and time of his or her death. Once cut, the soul would be sent into the Underworld to receive judgement and discharged to one of three destinations: Elysium, for the righteous souls who were to be rewarded; Tartarus, for the vicious souls who were to be punished; and the Fields of Asphodel, for the mediocre and ordinary. Feared by mortals and gods alike, the sisters pressed together to preside over a person’s fate—a prophecy foretold, their past, present, and future set in stone.

Odysseus was King Laertes’ firstborn son, born by the legitimate wife. So long as the king of Ithaca Laertes did not give sire to another son, and the prince suffered neither misfortune nor committed any unforgivable crimes, the course of this child’s destiny had already been charted out for him.

Three nights later, dark storm clouds rolled into Ithaca, heralded by dazzling claps of thunder and lightning that boasted an ocean of tears. The old Autolycus awoke with a start.

“Dear…?” his wife murmured drowsily.

Whatever Autolycus had been about to say to reassure her was interrupted when a flash of blistering color lifted the veil of darkness. His ears rang with the deafening unearthly screech of an eagle. There was a dangerous edge to the cry, like a thunderstorm about to erupt.

Like a bolt of lightning, the fine embroidered bedcover was flung off and Autolycus prostrated himself on the floor. He bellowed, “Zeus, O’ Wise King of the Gods, I heed your prophetic warnings! I give eternal thanks for your consideration and the everlasting grace you have shown to me and my family!”

Deep in Autolycus’ ambrosial sleep, he had dreamt Zeus had flown into his bedchambers in the guise of a large golden eagle, landing on the bedrest above the old swindler’s head. Sharp talons curled, majestic wings folded, a strong yellow beak preened his flight feathers. In the dream from heaven, disguised as a bird of prey, the god proclaimed in a deep, authoritative thunder clap: “Master of Thieves, Autolycus, do you dare sleep now when I come to you bearing a message? Listen closely now, for you are my messenger son’s son and, as far-off as I can be, I care about you and feel compassion.”

Like peering through a fog, Autolycus witnessed a war, and a fatal anger that would bring countless sorrows on the Achaeans, sending the souls of many valiant warriors to Hades, their bodies left behind as spoils for dogs and carrion birds on the broad-paved roads. He then witnessed the mightiest of all, aegis-bearing Zeus, he of the far-thundering voice, seated upon his throne composed of clouds at the gleaming Olympus, looking troubled; inclining his shadowed brow upon ambrosial locks, the Cloud-Lord thunderously forbade the company of gods from interfering in the quarrel of mortals.

Autolycus saw a massive wooden horse being wheeled into a city’s thick fortified gates, and forty soldiers pouring out of the large, hollowed underbelly in the dead of night to push the gates open. He beheld Odysseus—handsome, long-haired, and proud—commanding six hundred men to glory. He saw his grandson, looking fresh and bright after the war, setting sail homeward bound—and the innumerous sufferings he endured. The incidents, and the faces of many, flashed before Autolycus’ eyes like a series of quick lightning bolts.

A cave and the one-eyed monster that lived inside it—a horrid creature, not like a human being at all, but resembling a rugged mountain crag piercing the sky—dashed six of Odysseus’ men to the ground with his club until their brains splattered, tearing their corpse from limb from limb, gorging on their flesh, bones, and entrails; of Odysseus later thrusting a club of olive-wood in the ashes, and then having his men aim it straight and true, sharpened at the tip, into the cyclops’ eye—throwing his weight upon the beam from above, whirling the fiery-sharpened point in the socket like how a man would bore a ship’s timber with a drill, while those below kept it spinning with the thong, as the eyeball burned and boiling blood bubbled around the red hot beam; Autolycus’ ears deafened hearing the pained, earth-shattering roar whilst the surrounding flock of rams, well-fed and thick of fleece, brayed in fright; the monster’s crying had attracted the other savage cyclops who lived in the headlands near him.

In another flash, Autolycus was on a cliffside, and he saw what he assumed to be the silhouette of his grandson from a distance, joined by his crewmates who hastily set sail from the beaches. Dwarfing Autolycus in height, the blinded ogre had stretched both hands out to the starry heaven; his voice rumbled like two boulders grating together, praying to the lord Poseidon—that if he were the god’s true begotten son—to grant a curse upon “the valiant warrior, Odysseus, the sacker of cities and son of Laertes, who lives in Ithaca,” to never reach his home alive. Or that if it were Odysseus’ fate to see his friends, to derail the man’s voyage for as long as he could, for the captain to suffer greatly after losing all of his men, and to let him reach his home only in another man’s ship, and to find trouble in his own house. Curse after curse after curse spilled forth. And Poseidon heard his prayer.

Zeus hurled his bolt—and this time Autolycus opened his eyes to see the earth-encircling Poseidon commanding a giant whirlpool. Autolycus’ breath drew tight in his chest. Who could stand the weight of a god’s wrath? A titan towering over the twelve ships, Poseidon calmly declared to them their death sentence. With a majestic sweep of his divine trident, the black ocean swelled up into monstrous giant horses, surging over eleven ships—before crashing down, swallowing the screams of more than five-hundred crewmen. Autolycus watched as Odysseus’ face crumbled in despair. Over the sleet-like spray of salt water and sound of waves rocking the only ship spared, they could hear the god’s vindictive hiss: “Forty-three left under your command….”

“Cousin, Father Zeus; and you other everlasting and blessed gods,” a clear voice suddenly rang out. Loud, energetic, eager. The violent seas had vanished, replaced by sunlight, shining and radiant. Autolycus would recognize that voice anywhere, having pilfered a dagger from the god: Helios the Sun, the one who saw everything. The god threatened, “I ask you to punish the companions of Odysseus, son of Laertes; for they outrageously killed my cattle, in whom I always delighted on my way up into the starry heaven, or when I turned back again from heaven toward earth. I demand just recompensation for my cattle, or you will see me go down to Hades’ and give my light to dead men!”

A bolt of lightning hurled blinded his vision—and this time Autolycus was overlooking his grandson from high above, up in the black clouds. From Zeus’ perspective, as judge, jury, and executioner. Odysseus looked wretched and disheveled, the bloodstain on his tunic blooming like a carnelian flower. “Choose.” Addressing Odysseus, Zeus’s voice was deep, like a storm coming, but gentle, like the rain ending. The god’s sonorous voice echoed through the hollow place of sorrow, reverberating in everyone’s eardrums. “Someone’s gotta die today and you have got the final say….” The last syllable was stretched long, a cruelty masked behind gaiety.

Another flash—and this time Autolycus was astonished to see the familiar tall figure of Athena, beloved daughter of Zeus, marching up to the imposing throne constructed of wispy cumulus clouds. Her voice boomed with authority in the sacred place, coming to Odysseus’ aid, pleading her case before Zeus to release him and to allow the pitiful king of Ithaca to return home. Her voice melded with five other opposing voices who engaged her, turn by turn, in fierce debate. That was all Autolycus was allowed to hear before his vision darkened, and he almost leapt with fright suddenly seeing the helmeted Athena brazenly point her bronze-tipped spear up at a furious Zeus.

The image of Zeus’ daughter raising her weapon against her heavenly father, this great primordial being whose form eclipsed the entire sky, in defense of Autolycus’ grandson, was seared into Autolycus’ eyes. Beholding the god’s true terrible form, Autolycus remembered the stories of the mad Titan, Kronos—he who mated his older sister Rhea—whose blood flowed in Zeus’ veins, as well as his ancestry with the Titans Ouranos, the sky, and Gaia, the earth. The goddess’ noble figure was the last thing he saw before his vision burned bright and a shroud of absolute darkness soon came falling down.

After the last vision, Zeus fell uncannily silent. In the absence of light, the darkness held a presence that was all the more felt because it was not seen. Autolycus heard the distant sound of waves striking the shore, forceful and strong and as constant as the deepest ocean currents; and it was as though the pounding of his heart was keeping in time with the sea’s great tides—the sound a familiar comfort, and every seafarer’s nightmare. A looming danger unable to mitigate.

“…That clever grandson of yours will run afoul of many great gods. These are a mere trifle I have deemed significant and allowed you to see.” The eagle lifted his beak from his feathers. Gazed at Autolycus with eyes blazing with golden ichor. “Odysseus of Ithaca is a man born to trouble. However his fate is to become a fine king of counsel, charged with an army, on whom responsibility so rests. He will go to engineer a clever trick so heinous, the war cannot be won without his strategy, contributions that thereby make him essential for it is fated that Troy will fall. As I will have decreed that us immortal gods cannot interfere in the war, I have effectively tied my own hands—for once I give my nod, my word can never be recalled; to prove true and fulfilled. Heed my only warning, Autolycus, as my wish is to preserve the sanctity of the natural divine order. Hold fast to this, remember all, when honey-tongued sleep frees you.”

With this, the eagle departed in a shower of golden sparks. When Autolycus woke, the divine voice was still ringing in his ears.

At present, he could feel his body ache; the cold floor was unforgiving on his old bones and stiff joints. Dread donned Autolycus’ troubled brow now that he was no longer constrained by sleep’s inability to doubt. Why give him, a thief who’d boasted he could steal undetected from the gods themselves, the grace of a divine vision? Why him—and not somebody else? Autolycus’ cunning mind raced, pondering Zeus’ intentions.

Could it be…? For Zeus to personally descend instead of sending down a messenger, did this not indicate that the god somewhat recognized their unacknowledged familial ties? Although Autolycus’ blood ran crimson, his relationship to the immortal gods of Olympus could be considered the strongest amongst his wives and children, for the blood of Hermes directly flowed through his veins. Disguising his warning as an omen, was their divine ancestor showing consideration for his children’s mortal descendants—however distant and negligible their relation might be, as neither Autolycus nor his children nor children’s children sprung from Zeus’ loins directly?

He heard his wife slip out from the comfort of the warm covers; her warm hands slipped underneath to support her kneeling husband from underneath his elbows. He snapped out of his thoughts. His pulse still thundering from the prophetic dream, gripping his wife by her arms, Autolycus announced feverously, “Beloved Amphithea, come with me to seek an audience with our daughter. We must make haste! For I have seen her son’s future!”

The old woman, seized with fear, obeyed her husband.

That night, Autolycus and Amphithea held an assembly with their daughter and their son-in-law. Listening to Autolycus recount his prophetic vision of an incoming war, Queen Anticlea—a woman of exemplary virtue and chastity—and King Laertes who was a man of honor, wisdom, courage, and a straightforward personality, were, understandably, afraid. Afraid for the state of their kingdom—and for their son. These secret discussions which rolled into the early hours of the next day, behind closed doors, would later come to define Odysseus’ life and rewrite history.

Yet, for all their preparation and well-laid plans, not once did it occur to them, if a person’s fate was something that could be so easily redirected. For, on Odysseus’ glimmering thread, the tribulations which Lachesis had woven for him remained untouched. The innumerous fibres twisted together to form one long golden strand coiled even tighter, strengthening some more.

XXXXXXXXXX

For young children, the passage of time was always particularly noticeable. They went from being tiny, unable to see the world clearly, to sitting, crawling, and then evolving to exploring the world on their short little legs.

In the blink of an eye, Odysseus transformed from a baby who smelled like milk, to a cheerful, rambunctious rascal at just three years old. Like all boys his age, he liked to climb trees, explore, jump, run around, and disappear. The prince was an exceptionally curious troublemaker who gave the servants in the palace many headaches; they were nearly driven to their wit’s end working tirelessly around the clock to find the young prince in every new hiding spot he’d managed to procure for himself in the palace grounds, or having to wait until Odysseus exhausted himself from playing before they could finally put the escape artist to bed.

Several Achaean elders who’d been called into assembly one day had remarked to the king, just like their own offspring, nephews, or grandsons, that perhaps the mind of the legitimate crown prince wasn’t being stimulated enough, which was causing the prince to act out in mischief. The young Odysseus was already showing signs that he was brighter than a majority of boys his age. The solution was to exhaust the reserves of all that untapped energy and funnel it into alternative outlets. With some effort, there was still a chance to correct his ways. Confronted with his son’s penchant for stirring up trouble, Laertes decided to move the matter of the prince’s formal education up much earlier.

It was a principle that bullying others was always better than being bullied.

But should Odysseus be taught well, he would be more likely to grow into a ruler who could distinguish right from wrong. Doting on a child too much could be detrimental to their own growth. Princes who had some talent but didn’t like to study, and were pampered by the household, should he continue this way, would either end up a waste—or a playboy who only knew a life of debauchery. Empires often declined because of a muddle-headed ruler who prioritized pleasures instead of overseeing their kingdom and government affairs.

It ought to be observed that children who were not well-educated struggled to make a name for themselves outside their parents. Looking at Odysseus’ robustness, both parents thought having the prince learn military skills early would also help him get a head start on training his discipline, with the added benefit of shaping his mind—and his physique. For that, they turned to the precedent set by the Spartans. Whilst most Spartan sons waited till they were seven-years old to leave their home and begin their military education at the Agoge, Odysseus reported to the training grounds at the tender age of five—when his grasp over his motor control skills was sufficient enough to hold a wooden practice sword for a long duration without accidentally hurting himself. The Achaean hired as Odysseus’ instructor was a strict retired general; he told the impressionable Odysseus that although Achaean boys were only expected to receive military training for two years in their adolescence, he wouldn’t take it easy on Odysseus just because of his age or status.

Thus, so began Odysseus’ new hellish life.

Not only was he tested on soldier formations and military tactics, he was expected to be well-versed over an assortment of weapons. Spears. Javelins. Sword and shield. Bows. Slings. Horseback riding. Practical skills that any commander needed to know, for the battlefield was a cruel place that eviscerated little boys like him. Every day was a new kind of military drill; Odysseus’ enthusiasm waned when the general started their first lesson off by having him swing his wooden sword in the air repetitively.

It was only when he could swing a sword five hundred times, without break, that they would move onto the next lesson: archery—a lesson that Odysseus had been looking forward to, for he had heard the story of how Laertes and the other hunters who had come from kingdoms worldwide joined hands in the expedition to hunt down the monstrous Calydonian Boar which’d been sent by the angered goddess Artemis. Every year, to celebrate the accomplishment, Laertes had made it the Ithacan tradition to host a hunting expedition for all able men and young men alike to hunt down the wild boars of the region. Whatever expectations Odysseus initially had burned down to cinders when he was handed a bow by his dogmatic teacher and told he wouldn’t be allowed to touch a single arrow until the young prince learned how to string all manners of bow.

Although Laertes was no longer young, he was still vigorous. In addition to the military instructor, Laertes hired private tutors—among them a notable philosopher—to educate the young prince in a wide range of subjects, including philosophy, mathematics, and the sciences. As Odysseus was the crown prince, he required a more specialized curriculum tailored to his specific interests and to prime him for his future.

Learning required patience. The small kingdom of Ithaca had a history of maritime trade and travel, farming and animal husbandry—as well as the gods they were to worship. When the subject matter was interesting and the time was short, Odyessus was the model bright student. When the instructor droned on, he would fall into a drowsy state while listening and needed to force himself to stay awake. It was manageable in short bursts but gradually, over time, Odyessus couldn’t sit still, as if there were countless invisible nails under his bottom.

The pressures of having gone from having the freedom to play whenever he wanted, to a heavy workload and schedule that even adult men would balk at was not an easy adjustment period for any child. So, Odysseus rebelled; he played truant. His young and tender face had carried unswerving determination. One night, Odysseus snuck out of the palace with a plan to pick pretty seashells down at the white-shore sands; for he craftily knew his mom would treat him better once Laertes and Anticlea inevitably discovered that he’d been caught slacking off from his studies again. It was an ingenious plan!

This time, he did not go diving to pick up shells. The blood of a seafarer must run strong in Odysseus for he adored the water. He didn’t understand why his parents and grandparents looked a little nervous each time he said he would be careful playing down at the beaches. In daylight, the embrace of the sea felt warm and comforting after the initial cold shock plunging into the water. He loved how it flowed against his hair like it was being brushed and seeing the more curious fishes swimming up to him, their tails and fins kissing his nose, startling him into laughter, which released tiny bubbles of air. But, seeing as he’d snuck out with the guards and servants remaining unaware of the prince’s late-night escapade, he was pressed for time. Swimming at this late hour would just be asking for trouble.

Sifting his fingers through the sand, picking up seashells and turning them left and right for close inspection, Odysseus had put a handful away in his pouch when he thought he heard a nicker. Surprised, he peeked from his hiding spot behind a rock—and gasped aloud! For, out on the shoreline, he saw the mesmerizing sight of a stampede of majestic stallions galloping across the currents on their blue hooves; even more astonishing, their bodies were composed entirely out of water!

Seeing them, Odysseus’ eyes burned bright. He was treated to a sight of seeing these water horses race wildly across the surface of water, stirring up a spray of saltwater with each powerful kick, before the stampede suddenly launched themselves into the air at a turn, diving right back into the ocean with a loud splash.

…Poseidon?

Odysseus’ gaze was thoughtful. When he later returned that night with his precious cargo, the entire palace had been in an uproar—for the prince was not in his bed and had snuck out! His father had pulled him aside that night and bent him over his knees, spanking him until his bottom glowed red and Odysseus cried out. After that, Odysseus became less rowdy and much more well-behaved, obediently attending his lessons.

Unknowingly, his mood brightened along with the weather, as if something weighing on his heart had vanished. His heart felt a bit lighter—because now he had a purpose to work towards.

#odyseidon #odysseus x poseidon #epic the musical #odysseus #poseidon #greek mythology #chariot and wolf #preview #my writing #we’re speed-running through Ody’s childhood #to get to the fun bits #there are already 10 refs made to Greek mythology within the first 21 or so paragraphs 😅 y’all I’m screaming #all of these characters are from the original myth (I had like 40 tabs of research open just to write the first scene alone)#I’m 99% happy with scene 1 so there likely won’t be much change in the final draft #scene 2 however might be tweaked a bit more but this is the basic gist and set-up to what’s later planned in this chapter

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dipinthestars · 1 month ago

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soldier, protector ┃ chapter 1

jung yunho

notes: thank you so very much for the love given to the prologue 🖤 please relax and enjoy chapter 1. xo

genre: royalty au, knight au, fluff, angst, light fantasy

contains: perilous scenes, some violence and gore, talk of grief and loss, consuming alcohol

pairing: knight!yunho x princess!reader (ot8 in story)

synopsis: After the siege reined down on the neighboring kingdom, a prince is set to be with the princess of Vanelle to build back up the fallen empire. However, with war still on the horizon, a knight is trusted with guarding the princess while she prepares to welcome a new kingdom with a love set to raise rule again for Glassendor. However, love is found with those you find more close, more intimate, and even more risks.

word count: 3.8k

prologue ┃chapter 1

—

Inside the dining hall was nearly suffocating. Too many bodies gathered at the sides of a lengthy table, preparing for the night’s appetizers as they touched wine glasses to each other and laughed so loud it gave you an awful headache.

The air was almost sticky from the warm bodies and steam rising out of the first course of soup. You take a sip of water from your crystal glass before lightly tapping your cousin’s thigh, who just sat to your left unfolding a napkin into his lap.

“Mingi,” you breathed, seemingly catching your breath from the heat. “Please tell me you brought a fan tonight.”

“Well… yeah, why do you ask?” He lifted a spoonful of soup to his puckered lips.

You touch the back of your hand to your forehead, cheeks, then chin. “This heat,” you said. “Feel like I’m about to be a puddle in my chair. Can I at least borrow it till after dinner?”

Mingi’s lips went sideways. “And what if I get hot?”

“We’ll share,” you compromised. “Please, Mingi.”

Finally, he sighed, his spoon clanking against the bowl as he reached inside his dark suit jacket and pulled out a folded fan. You opened it with a thwack, taking a deep breath as more water is poured into your nearly empty glass by a servant walking by.

“Are you sure it’s the heat?” Mingi asked, glancing up. “We’re actually under a bit of a draft.”

He had a point, but that didn’t stop your heart from running away and your dread for the evening. After all, you’d be meeting your husband that night.

Mingi narrowed his eyes. “Y/N.”

“We’ve talked enough about it.”

Your cousin dipped a piece of bread into the soup. “Still, if I were you I wouldn’t shut up about it. I mean, your future was still uncertain because it was so far away. But now you got a kingdom waiting for you, or… what will soon be a kingdom, again.”

You focus on the gold etching around the rim of your bowl, trying to muster some appetite to enjoy the grand feast being thrown for the occasion of you meeting Glassendor’s prince. “It’s horrible, Mingi. I’m not ready to rule a throne.”

“Maybe he’ll do all the ruling. Look at this way,” he looked briefly to either side of him before the both you lean in together. “At least they’re not making us—“

You nearly whack him on the shoulder with his own fan. “Gross, I never even thought of that,” you whispered harshly, causing Mingi to dodge with a grin. Your cousin often spent time in the small castle at the heart of Vanelle. His father is brother to the king, and the both of you grew up within it’s the ancient halls and gardens of the kingdom just outside of the forest leading toward the mountains of the great land shared by neighboring empires both large and small. Your parents ruled over Vanelle, willing to become allies with their closer neighbors. Glassendor was amongst the closest.

The heir to the throne of that very kingdom sat nearly four chairs down from yours, stirring his soup and occasionally giving it a thoughtful sip from the spoon cradled in his grip.

Both you and Mingi had fixated on him. “Poor man,” muttered your cousin, shaking his head. “I’ve yet to see the likes of his eyes..”

You break your glance at the prince to look back at the man next to you.

“Look at him, he’s grieving,” Mingi chimed, pushing up the delicate frames of his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “A ghost attending this party, invisible but digesting. Do you think he’ll agree to dance before midnight?”

“Better if he didn’t,” you muttered under your breath, now fanning more quickly. “Not that he disgusts me, how is a man to dance with his eventual bride when his father and mother are dead?”

Mingi adjusted his seat and grabbed a glass chalice filled slightly with wine. “Maybe it’ll keep his mind off things.”

“And how did he manage to escape without even a scratch? I mean, physically.” The only thing you could see from the distance was the small patch of pink at the corner of his eye, more of a unique accent to his complexion under a short curtain of dark hair.

“I heard he had gone on a pilgrimage two days before,” your cousin explained. “Apparently his heart is quite warm. My mate was telling me he’s helped instate animal protection laws and recreational activities for children within nearby villages.”

It felt wrong to marry a man in grief and just to repair a kingdom. Your stomach felt like it was holding a stone and your soup had grown cold.

The courses continued over the next hour, eventually you dug into the roasted veggies and sugared fruit, giggling at Mingi when he said he “couldn’t eat another bite” but helped himself to another serving of blueberry tart.

The prince had been scanning the scape of royals, jesters, guards and trades people who came bringing silk, perfumes and strings of pearls to welcome him to the palace and community. It all felt foreign to him after the last few days, he never bothered to brush the clay on his knees as he knelt before the tomb that housed the king and queen of Glassendor. He wanted to sit with them just a bit longer.

Your parents, Vanelle’s rulers, proposed the formal meeting between you and the prince be held privately in the throne room. Its hall was adorned by garlands of the white flowers and candles lit in honor for the deceased parents of the prince. You still hadn’t learned him name, but your mother and father insisted you introduce yourselves to each other in the most grand room of the castle.

Thankfully, the maids took you up to the room to change behind the modesty screen. Your dress had begun to squeeze your midsection like a corset from the luxury dishes served at dinner. The new dress cloaked you in black and sequins of crystal and beads twinkled like stars under the flickering lamps of your bedroom.

You were slipping on your second, elbow-length glove when a rhythmic knock rattled against the grand door leading to the hallway.

“Princess?”

You smiled, recognizing the voice as one of the maidens rested your tiara atop your head. “Thank you,” you gave the woman a courtesy nod before going to the door. Upon opening it, the palace entertainer, Jongho, formed an O with his mouth, hands clasped below his belly.

“Goodness, that’s some dress.” It was uncertain if this was a compliment.

You thread your hand through the bend of his arm he offered you, surprised just a bit at the gesture since Jongo often prefers to deflect touch and shy away from receiving it. Maybe it was sympathy, maybe he was just a gentleman.

An ivory jacket hugged his shoulders and matched the slacks covering his legs. A gold broach in the shape of a moon pierced his left lapel, a gift from his family when he was hired to be the singer for parties and festivals held within Vanelle’s castle walls.

Many of the maidens and people who would come to see Jongho would whisper that he was born from the sirens lurking in the rivers throughout the woods surrounding Vanelle. However, he took pride and care in his voice, touching the souls of those who were graced to hear it from themselves. His projection glazed all the way across the theater room and ballroom floor when he took the small stage. It was a true gift.

“Your tailor knew to dress you divinely,” you returned with a sigh.

Jongho began walking you down the staircase, both of your gazes forward as the sky began to grow dark past the palace windows. “Well, we’re all anticipating a wedding, and I’m honored your family allowed me to escort you to the groom.”

His voice was dry, but you could pick up that he was only trying to help the situation. Jongho would probably puke if he was being set up in a marriage suddenly.

“And you’re not considering it an escort to sign my life away?”

“Silly,” he continued. “You’re not here to fix all his problems. One, yes. But it is for the good of the people. Sooner or later you’d be made queen of a kingdom. Maybe you’ll find your way back to Vanelle.”

Mingi had met Jongho after a draft for battle before either of them even had their eighteenth birthday. Armor hung too loose on their body, even on Mingi’s tall frame. Shields were too heavy and they could only sport daggers and light spears to defend against a flurry of men on dark steeds and wagons, the brimstone of hellbound souls shadowing their eyes.

Your cousin had been up high atop the walls of the battleground, young boys his age strode across the ground with their figures on fire or impaled by stakes and sliced by axes. He kept trying to swallow his heart back into his chest and his back was awfully tired. His knees begged to give in.

Amongst the rubble and smoke, a song lifted itself just below the wall, and from below, Jongho cradled a fellow boy in battle, bleeding from a slit in his throat and choking for the last few breaths of life before his soul went to the light or the underworld. Creating a lullaby, coaxing the poor boys into an endless slumber.

Jongho, only sixteen at the time, brushed the boy's hair and sang him into the afterlife, wishing he were not afraid and that the light would show him mercy before his soul was taken from this realm.

Mingi stared, his lips parting and his stance growing firm as if roots grew from the bottom of his heels. It was all due to the sight of youth, amazed that someone focused on comfort in the midst of a battlefield, holding the young boys, soothing their cries and gasps for air, assuring them that peace was to come. It was enough to carry him throughout the continuous following nights of blood and rebellious revelry.

After the memorial for the fallen boys, where Jongho sang at the services, Mingi had proposed he take on entertainer at the palace. The king and queen loved music, and Jongho’s voice was of pure magic.

The younger man never spoke of his one time in battle, instead graciously performing at palace festivities and celebrations, additionally easy nights of champagne and wine. Mingi had also never returned to battle, as a law was instituted between the kingdoms of the country that young men were not to be drafted to battle without training. Many young hearts sacrificed themselves that week.

“And what does that mean for you? Would you come sing for a night in Glassendor?” You asked.

Jongho smiled slightly. “My lady, if Vanelle’s king and queen would be willing to share.”

You match his expression with a grin as the sound of both of your heels echoed all the way to the throne room. From a distance, you watch three men enter through the tall doorway on the left side of the hallway. You couldn’t make out who they were, surely guards as the king and queen were quick to up the protection of their palace and kingdom.

Your heart had begun to quicken as a rabbit once again when reality struck you: you were here to meet your future king.

You, Y/N, the queen.

“I’m gonna be sick,” you muttered, your wrap on Jongho’s arm involuntarily growing tighter.

“Ah…” the young man next to you groaned in fake pain, gently pulling his arm away before digging in his pocket. “Peppermint sweet?”

You look over to see Jongho offering an open tin of hard candy, the scent of peppermint wafting momentarily in the air. It smelled of the palace during the winter, of spruce trees twinkling with lights and gold, silver and red covering the entirety of the castle. The maidens would constantly be in the kitchen baking cinnamon apples and filling cream puffs.

Your eyes glance up in hesitation before Jongho outstretched the tin further to you. “What? They’re good for my throat, not to mention getting me through those early days of stage fright nausea.”

The thought of the man ever having stage fright makes you giggle, considering how much confidence he brings to the stage now. “I trust you, Jongho, just don’t want to choke on it when curtsying to my betrothed.” You place the mint in your cheek, the sharp aroma easing your stomach’s storm into a still ocean.

The throne room was cold. Much too cold than it should’ve been, and waiting beside the king and queen’s throne was the same prince who had avoided all glance and talk during the feast. His attire was cloaked in all black, a button up tucked into simple pants with black dress shoes with shining buckles. A petite, silver crown sat at the top of his skull, his hands behind his back and watching the floor just a few feet ahead of him.

His face almost reminded you of a pixie, handsome but with petite and ethereal features. Despite the gentleness of his face, his shoulders stretched wide and his shirt clung to the taught muscles in his arms.

Jongho had stayed behind in the hallway, walking to his next destination of the palace.

“Darling daughter,” your mother hummed, uncrossing her legs to stand in greeting of your presence. “I hope the feast has provided you with a good meal. I wonder, have spoke to the prince of Glassendor this evening?“

This felt absurd, of course you hadn’t spoke with the prince. Formal meeting and all that, wasn’t that why they were here?

“I regret I haven’t,” you glanced to the young man to the left of your father’s throne. “Welcome to Vanelle. I hope your travel was safe.”

His eyes slowly gazed up, much without lifting his chin, and he flickered them to the side before reaching out and grabbing your hand as if it were made of thin ceramic. “Your highness,” tentatively, he placed a kiss on your knuckles that you barely felt. “Kang Yeosang, son and heir to the empire of Glassendor.”

“Glassendor,” you repeated, “My dear prince, Vanelle offers their deepest sympathy and condolences for your grief and that of your community.” Better to address the obvious as early as possible so it wasn’t hanging over the poor man.

He bowed at a near ninety degree angle at the hips. “Thank you,” he muttered, placing his hands back behind his back. “I am eternally grateful we have met.”

The two of you were doing your absolute best to speak formally with the practice of royal tongue; however, the air thickened with awkward tension, so quiet that if a dove were to fly in from outside the stainglass window, every person could hear the beat of its winds. Even Yeosang’s words felt forced, yet an attempt to offer courtesy.

“I do have your hand in a dance later, is that right?” You asked to lighten the heaviness, Yeosang finally lifting his chin and tilting his head to one side.

“It wouldn’t be very princely of me to turn down the request of the princess,” he mused.

You gave him a playful smirk, but his countenance stayed still.

“You both will drink and find the connection you two are now destined for the country,” the king boasted with pride. “A worthy son for my worthy daughter, how beautiful the two of you will be on the crisp, new thrones of Glassendor. I hear they’ve been requested to be carved out of marble, is that right, dear? The ceiling is being replaced by fine quartz so clear you wouldn’t even know there was a ceiling. It won’t be long now.”

The talk of materialistic furnishings was exchanged by the king and queen, his wife chortling about the thread count of rugs and satin sheets.

Yeosang had gone back into a trance, standing like a sculpted statue while gazing towards the back of the enormous throne room.

“How exciting for new people in my kingdom,” the king sighed, taking a merry gulp from a chalice on the pedestal between him and the king. “You’ll be safe soon, my Y/N, there’s no need to fear the enemy anymore. Your highness and I have put an awful lot of fright in you these past few weeks.”

Your mother shook her head. “Dreadful, really. I am so sorry, Y/N. But you will not be alone, besides us, we have appointed some new men to help keep the kingdom safe until we repel the enemy. We’ve heard word of a barracks ground that the people around Vallene have sung praises of and traded for worthy goods.”

The king looked past your head and to the dark shadows at the back of the throne room. “Would the willing knights of the Misty Barracks please approach the throne?”

You kept your gaze focused forward, the sound of metal meeting the cobbled floor. This wasn't a surprise to you, for after the attack on Glassendor, your mother cried at the foot of your bed nearly every night, worrying to leave you for a moment in fear that an assassin would climb into yours or her window to steal both of your souls from living Earth.

Two young men in panels of shining metal broadening their shoulders and accentuating their statures come to either side of you, both with hair shrouded by darkness, chins held high in dignity. Each of them cradled a unique helmet under one arm; one with a long tress of white feathers sprouting from the top, the face shield coming to a sharp point. It felt odd to see a knight without his helm.

“Do speak, for what have been your assigned duties?”

The one with the feathered helm spoke: “Jung Wooyoung, guard of the throne room and captain of Vanelle’s army for the anticipated war.” He bowed deep, his mail creaking slightly against the coil at his waist.

“Brave one,” the king chuckled. “Voice of a lark. And have you begun these plans, Sir Wooyoung?”

The knight opened his mouth with confidence but nothing came out. He shut it with a clop and dipped his head in reverence. “My plan is to ignite the souls of your people with the song of mine. Your men, their value or lives won’t be taken for granted. I swear to uphold the duty to bring your land victory.”

You noticed the man’s jaw began to tremble before he tightly held his lips together, pinched his eyes closed and bowed ninety degrees once more. This time, he never straightened back up.

The other knight, appearing almost as if a tree sprouted in the middle of the throne room, cleared his throat with a cough. You could’ve sworn the two of the young exchanged glances before the first knight stood back up.

“And you,” upon the king’s voice, four pairs of eyes looked to your right to see the second knight gazing up at the rising where the royals’ thrones sat. He didn’t blink, he didn’t tremble, he didn’t so much as shift his eyes. He was focused on one man of importance before his eyes, awestruck, proud and anticipating the dream that was ahead of him.

Your father said simply, “Please, do speak.”

He bowed his head, making sure he focused on each the king and queen before addressing a rich voice. “Jung Yunho.”

“Ah! Brothers?” Your dad steepled his fingertips and grinned at the two young soldiers still focused on them.

Yunho couldn’t help but smile at the assumption most people come to upon meeting them. “Not by blood, your majesty, but I do call him a brother.”

“What is your duty, Sir Yunho?” Your mother asked, appearing to shift into a more comfortable seat in her throne.

Yunho finally broke the gaze of the king and queen, to take a step forward, slightly to the left, until he was in front of you. The glimpse of his helm became more evident, his face shield more flat but built to cover the entirety of his face. Two, wing-shaped pieces of metal almost appearing as horns complimented the sharp points on his shoulders which also almost resembled that of a seraph’s.

He unsheathed the sword at his hip, slow and steadily, the noise of the blade cutting into the air and making your skin prickle from the intensity. He got on one knee, gently resting the tip of the sword into the stone, cold floor beneath the people’s feet.

“My lady, it is my honor to serve as your soldier, protector. For your life is treasured by your people, and by me. You’re safe now.”

His voice was as grounded as the roots of the great oak tree back at the Misty Barracks. Yunho’s eyes never broke focus, and you found your own gaze dancing over the reflects of metal covering his body. They weren’t particularly bulky, and Yunho’s frame knelt strong, his body coming to lower a bit more in a bow but never lowering his chin so he could still meet you eye to eye.

You felt nearly that you were being eaten alive by his eyes, though delightfully.

You look down to the man knelt before you. The glow of candlelight and stained glass make his dark eyes glimmer like drops of amber. His hair, tousled yet appearing to have at least an attempt of grooming for the occasion. His bangs had been brushed back, only a few strands tickling his forehead as if he ran a hand back over his head before entering the throne room.

Yunho towered over most of the people in the one room, but on one knee, you could hardly believe a man as beautiful as him could be filled with such selfless dignity. A light in the dark, a shield from a deathly blow, and as stealthy as a thief in the dark.

It wasn’t very obvious, but the corners of his lips seemed to naturally sit in a tired smile. Fragrance of rosemary and citrus wafted from his collarbones; it wouldn’t be a surprise if a knight had groomed his best for a princess.

In most scenarios, this would seem entirely too peculiar for one to be comfortable with. It wasn’t rare though for a prince or princess to be appointed a knight. Her mother had two when growing up in her palace.

“Sir Yunho,” you finally said, stepping one foot back to dip a small courtesy. You thought of what a proper princess would say to a man of nobility, you hadn’t been in such a scenario before. Do you laugh at his submissiveness? Throw your arms around his neck while swooning, my hero? “Y/N, thank you and your companion for accepting the invitation into our kingdom.”

The thick, formal words felt weird on your tongue and you wondered if this formality would last the entirety of Yunho’s stay.

The knight didn’t say anything, just gazed into your eyes, darting from either one before finally standing to turn to the king and queen. “I will also serve as part of Wooyoung’s army. Your men have allies within us.” He brought a fist to his chest. “My captain eagerly awaits your update.”

“Amazing,” your father breathed, clapping his hands together and being the only one to do so. “Tonight, we party till the sun rises again, our kingdom’s woes have been lifted, our enemies bodies will be hurled to sea and set ablaze upon pyres.”

Yunho’s face dropped slightly, but Wooyoung gets to one knee much as his taller companion had when addressing you.

The night was growing late, but it had only begun. The evening now was for Yeosang, the grieving prince, and how could you find that connection before it got too late.

—

final notes: have a good evening and all hail knight yunho

truly yours, sapphire 🖤

#ateez #ateez fanfic #atz #ateez angst #ateez fluff #yunho #mingi #jongho #hongjoong #yeosang #san #seonghwa #wooyoung #atz fanfic

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